Queen of Hearts
by funanyaTHEmute
Summary: -George/OC- "We're off to the village, there's a very pretty girl working in the paper shop who thinks my card tricks are something marvelous... almost like real magic..."
1. Chapter 1

**Queen of Hearts**

Chapter One

Disclaimer: I own a copy of every HP book, but the content of those stories themselves belongs to some brilliantly divine source I'm not even sure is human (She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named).

* * *

"Is this your card?" The twin on the left smirked, holding up a Queen of Hearts. I couldn't fight off a grin while my head rocked back and forth in disbelief.

"Yes," I said through a light laugh, plucking the rectangular royal from the boy's fingers and examining it for myself. There were no signs of trickery: no bizarre patterns, bent corners, discoloration, or added markings. I didn't understand how they did it; it was like real magic!

"Good card, that is," the ginger on the right said, nodding at my pick. "Queen of Hearts. Quite fitting, don't you think, George?"

"Definitely," the boy on the left agreed readily, his expression solemn. "The only card in the deck that does you any justice, I reckon. You're a heart-breaker, you are."

I bit my lip, trying to keep from giggling like a school girl. I had dealt with my fair share of flirts, of course, but this new double-teamed tactic was almost more than I could handle. Who could really resist identical twins, after all? "And what makes you say that, Mr. Weasley?"

The boy on the left made a show of putting a hand to his chest in horror. His counterpart gasped and took advantage of his open mouth, rebutting with, "'Mr. Weasley,' you say? Don't tell me you still can't tell us apart, dearest Camryn!"

Flushing a little, I averted my eyes. I knew one was Fred and the other George, but it was identifying which was which that I had trouble with. But, not wanting to disappoint, I squinted towards both of them in turn, trying to find some sort of difference between them.

It was a lost cause. They were completely congruent down to the very last freckle.

However, I did remember that the one on the right had addressed his brother as George earlier on.

"Not quiet, Frederick," I proclaimed with utmost pride. Both boys raised their brows, not looking as impressed as I had hoped they would.

"A fluke," Fred said dryly, seeing right through my reasoning.

"We're wizards, Camryn. You can't use those simple muggle tricks with us," George finished off. I snorted.

"Where do you two get these ideas from? Honestly," I voiced, rolling my eyes as I leaned forward on the counter. "You're always calling yourselves wizards and saying that I'm nothing but a 'muggle,' whatever that is. Haven't you given up on those fairy tales yet?"

No matter how charismatic, the fact that these two were constantly giving credit of their genius to some form of witchery was getting a little tiring. Did they think that I would still believe in magic at eighteen years old?

"Rubbish," Fred waved off easily. "That's the problem with you muggles: there's magic all over the place, but you lot just can't see what's right in front of you."

I didn't exactly understand what he meant, but that didn't stop me from drawing back and narrowing my stare. It sounded enough like an insult to justify that reaction.

George seemed to take my side in the argument, jabbing an elbow into his brother's side with a warning glance before smiling impishly at my ruffled posture.

"Don't mind this git, Camryn. His behavior just further proves that I really am the better half," George said, nodding with confidence. He hunched forward, plopping an elbow on the counter and resting his cheek to his fist. "No one can resist my debonair charm. Wouldn't you agree?"

I broke. Chagrin dispersing, I stood up from my seat (with him leaning in like that, the proximity was a little uncomfortable), flicking some imaginary lint off my plain black tee-shirt. "Yes, you're certainly... _bewitching_."

George grinned. "'Course I am. Are you under my spell yet?"

"_Ahem_."

The twins turned around, craning their necks downward to stare at the stout old man frowning from behind them. After a second's pause they both stepped aside and allowed the man through to the counter.

"I'm sorry, sir," I smiled, trying my best to look and sound contrite; my stomach was genuinely sinking as I took note of his obvious displeasure. In return for the apology I merely received a grunt, so I hurried to ring up and pack his purchases, mortified that I was caught in such an unprofessional position while on the job. After handing the man his bag and change, wishing him a Happy Holiday (to which he shot me a scowl) and expressing my thanks for the business the man was off again, waddling to the doors and making his way out of the shop, leaving the tension of his presence in his wake. The three of us remaining followed his back with our eyes until it disappeared in the crowd outside.

"Miserable old bloke, wasn't he?" Fred commented, scratching his cheek absent-mindedly.

"I suppose he's not going home to a beautiful woman tonight," George sighed, leaning back against the register. I smacked his shoulder lightly, shooing him away from my station as I made my way around the check-out counter to stand before the boys.

"He was upset because you two were holding up his shopping," I chastised, placing my hands to my hips in a classic scolding pose. The two were clearly well acquainted with the stance.

"Oh no, George, she's turning into Mum already," Fred drawled, looking to his brother in faux dismay. "We seem to have that unfortunate effect on woman."

"Speak for yourself," George countered. "She thinks I'm 'bewitching'."

"She's also hit you twice today. I, dear brother, remain unscathed."

"Love taps, they were."

"Enough," I said with a groan, wishing I could actually be angry with them. I scanned the store quickly for any other costumers (I knew there was no one else in the vicinity, with the shop being as small as it was, but it was an instinctual impulse) before grabbing a wrist in each of my hands and leading the twins to the door. "You two are distracting me. I'm supposed to be working."

"How rude," Fred huffed, falsely affronted. "You're kicking us out, are you? We _are_ customers!"

"Neither of you have bought anything in weeks."

"But we do bring humor into your life. That gift it priceless."

"Shut up and leave."

I released them at the front of the store, stepping back and crossing my arms with an expectant expression. I didn't mean to be so assertive, but it wouldn't be good for any of us if they were caught loitering around the counter. My boss (who also happened to be my father) didn't appreciate the boys hanging around so often - they disturbed the dullness of the shop.

"Fine, fine," Fred said airily, making the first move to step forward and open the door. He hesitated in the threshold, turning back and tilting his chin up. "Aren't you going to wish me a Happy Holiday?"

"Manners are reserved for the shoppers who pay me," I sneered, succeeding in making the act sound sincere. I ushered Fred into the street and attempted to push George out after him. The boy was stubborn, though, easily over-powering my efforts and holding me anchored at his side.

"What is it?" I asked with a furrowed brow, fighting to keep my expression firm. It was hard not to break out into googly eyes being that close to George (or any boy, really.) He and his brother, while strange and somewhat immature, weren't exactly the type of boys I would dismiss at first glance; that is to say, they weren't lacking as far as physical appearances go.

Glancing through the glass door quickly, George bend down to my level and whispered, "You can kiss me goodbye now, Darling. We don't have to tell Fred."

I knew there was no hope of forcing down my blush at those bold words. Instead, I simply used every ounce of strength in me to shove him out the of the shop and into the chilled December air, slamming the door shut behind him.

With the two troublemakers out of sight, I made my way back to the counter, taking deep breaths and trying to gather my wits. If I didn't know any better, I'd have to admit that the Weasleys did have a kind of hocus pocus running through their blood. They certainly had a spellbinding effect on me, for whatever reason.

* * *

After I had completed the sixth form, I'd decided to take a break from my studies and stand back for a moment; I was in no hurry to grow up and wanted to spend a bit more time enjoying myself before going off to a university. My father, of course, wasn't particularly pleased with my decision. As a compromise, we negotiated that I would work in his paper shop during the day so that I wasn't lounging around and wasting away. It was an incredibly bland job, as I quickly found out, that drained my energy like a leech with its lack of excitement. The store (Regan's Press, named after our family's surname) wasn't large by any means and was stacked from floor to ceiling with more printing goods than I had even known existed. There weren't normally a plethora of customers, but this time of year was the one of the largest rushes; we sold our fair share of wrapping papers and greeting cards during the Christmas season. The only other time when business seemed to boom was around September when the local schools started up. All the months between the two were about as exciting as clipping your toe nails.

Unless, of course, the Weasley twin decided to stop by.

The ironic thing was, my father had once joked about having me man the shop for the sole purpose of attracting some male consumers. While he had only said it as an off-handed attempt at comicality, he was none too thrilled when Fred and George made it a habit of stopping in simply to stand before the register and chat. He was even less amused when they would stay for hours performing the spectacular card tricks that left me in awe.

Honestly, as much as I denied it out loud, magic had always fascinated me, even then I was a child. My first crush, actually, was on the magician David Copperfield. I would watch him on television ritually and marvel at the miracles he managed to pull off. I grew more and more skeptical as I matured, of course, but seeing similar stunts right before my own eyes brought every bit of enthusiasm towards the craft pouring back in with renewed vigor.

I had to find out how they did it; I needed to watch closely and look for the secret. There was no such thing as magic. There were only illusions.

I hadn't been able to uncover anything yet, though. As hard as I tried there never seemed to be any other explanation for Fred and George's talents other than the supernatural. They offered no hints, only reinforcing their annoying wizarding claim. But that was absurd, so I simply convinced myself that not knowing how they did the things they did was better than driving myself mad trying to figure out _how_ they did them. I didn't care anymore, it was all just for laughs. Whether the twins really were male witches or just professional shysters didn't matter as long as they brought a little bit of light into my day.

The only problem was how miserable I became when they left. Like now.

Without their unique means if distraction, there really wasn't much else for me to do but take my seat behind the counter and find some way to entertain myself between the irregular clients that wandered in. Per usual, I found my thoughts drifting to the twins themselves as I dealt out my seventh game of solitaire. I wondered what it was they did when they weren't pestering me here. Were they employed as well? Did they work nearby and only stroll in when their shifts were over for a pick-me-up?

I also thought about their family. Did they have any siblings? Those two seemed to be quite the handful, and I imagined that if there were more than two Weasley children running around Ottery St. Catchpole then their parents deserved my blessings. I knew the family must have lived relatively near by, so it was strange that I had never come across the name Weasley over the course of my life. Why had I never met Fred and George in school? Where had they gotten their education?

I chuckled silently, brooding over the possibilty that they had attended some arcane sorcery school that was hidden from us "muggles". Something told me that was exactly the answer I would get if I tried to ask them about it directly.

With a mighty exhale I flipped over another three cards in my hand, bringing up a Queen of Hearts on the final flip. I paused for a moment before smiling, lifting the card up once again for inspection and twirling it in my fingers. What was it George had meant when he said this card related to me? A heart-breaker, he had called me. But what exactly did he mean by it? There was nothing wrong with fluttering my eye lashes a little; we were teenagers. We flirt, we fight, we fall in love. Fall in lust. That was life.

At this stage I was perfectly free to "play my hand", so to speak. I didn't want to be tied down at all. I wanted to enjoy my youth while it was still there. Now was the time to discover myself and have some adventure, immoral or not. Maybe I was a heart-breaker that lead boys on from time to time, but that was perfectly fine. I was still young and entitled to a bit of fun. I had the rest of my life to be responsible and honest, after all. These last few years of my teens were made for a bit of rebellion before I was forced to grow up. I had no worries for a while and I would bask in my ignorance for as long as it lasted.

So then, George Weasley, perhaps you got it right. That's me: I am Camryn Jensen Regan, the Queen of Hearts.

* * *

Thirty minutes. That was all that separated me from 17:00. Only thirty minutes until my shift ended. I longed for that freedom more than anything, and that was probably the reason for time slowing down.

I wondered if I should just give up and close the store early. What were the odds of someone walking in now anyway? It was the hour when the day began winding down and families prepared for dinner. I doubted anyone would coincidentally be in dire need of envelopes at this point in the evening.

Feeling anarchistic, I tip-toed my way the the front of the store, knowing that I was the only living person currently housed in the establishment. It wasn't so bad, really. I only had to turn a switch, flip a sign, and I could be sitting in front of the telly in two minutes. Who would know? My father wouldn't be home until around 18:00. All I had to do was...

The door opened only seconds before my fingers were to touch the lock. I jumped back on reflex with a gasp, my heart racing and mouth babbling in panic.

"WelcometoRegan'sPress-"

"Greeting people isn't a requirement for this job, Camryn," my father chortled, stepping into the store and pulling off his scarf. My body began to right itself, having been going haywire from the fright. My father regarded me with an odd look, taking notice of my abnormal breathing pattern. "What were you doing 'ere by the door anyway?"

"Oh," I said, finding it easy to throw together a fib, even when under pressure, "I was just taking a look outside. The snow's pretty, isn't it?"

Dad scoffed, sliding off his coat and tossing it haphazardly onto the rack beside the entrance. "Beautiful, but bloody freezing. What's say we call it an early day, eh? I'll make us some 'ot chocolate."

I grinned, both out of the irony and the suggestion itself. "Sounds like a good plan to me."

* * *

My father and I shared a modest flat directly above the paper shop that had beein in the family since before I was born. We had lived in the building for the entirety of my life, hiring anyone from the elderly to rookie teens to handle things in the store while I was in school and he was working as an electrician. In other words, the place was old and boring.

As far as I could remember, it had always just been my father and I. I obviously must have had a mother at one point in time, but my father was pretty adamant about avoiding the subject. He had granted me enough information to know that she died when I was very young (young enough not to recall her at all, apparently) and that keeping any photos of her around the house had been too painful for him. As a child I was both troubled and intrigued by his vague explanations, but I eventually grew out of my inquisitiveness towards the subject and just accepted things as they were. One thing I did know about the woman who birthed me was that she passed her facial features down to me. I sometimes wondered if my father meant to make me feel guilty when he would send whistful stares towards my chestnut curls every so often.

"How was your day?" the middle-aged man asked, bent over a pan of stir-fry on the stove. I chopped vegetables on the counter a bit away.

"Fine," came the universal answer. I didn't like talking too much when there was a sharp object in my hands. "As good as things can get when I'm gradually losing my mind."

My father snorted. "I take it those boy showed up again, eh?"

I froze. "Well... yeah."

My slicing grew much slower after that, as I concentrated more on the conversation than speedy dicing. I didn't really understand why my father didn't like me hanging around the twins - well, no, I did. I knew that no father liked their daughter fraternizing with young men, but mine seemed to have a particular vendetta against the two ginger bothers. I supposed it was because the only time the twins and I spoke was when I was on the job and they were stopping in, interrupting my shift and taking my focus away from the store itself. Not to mention the fact that I was being "seduced" on my father's own turf; that had to be a stab to his pride.

My dad sighed, poking at the sautéing chiken idly. "Did they at least buy something this time?"

"Yeah. Some stationary."

As long as we were getting some financial benefit out of my flirting, it seemed to help buffer the hard feelings. A harmless fib never hurt anyone.

"Why were you home early, anyway?" I asked, changing the subject. The question had been biting at me for a while and it seemed like as good a time as any to throw it out there.

"No one needed my electrical services today," Dad said nonchalantly. I saw through it, though, knowing that he felt at a loss when he wasn't hard at work a solid twelve hours a some reason (far beyond my understanding) he seemed to enjoy the exhaustion and complete lack of leisure time. "Not that I'm complaining, a' course. It's good to have a bit of a break every once in a while, eh?"

"Yep."

I could call a lie as easy as I could tell one.

* * *

After finishing up supper I found myself curled up in front of the television. The mug of cocoa in my hands served me as more of a toy at the moment, however, as I didn't find the prime-time news any more fascinating than my father's chatter.

"Unbelievable," he exhaled, seemingly enthralled with the chaos on the screen. "What's going on lately? The only things being reported these days are more mysterious murders, disappearances, destruction. When will a lad save a cat from a tree, eh?"

I snorted, taking a sip from my cup in an attempt to cover the act up. I suppose I couldn't really blame my father for taking the terror lightly; I wasn't any better. At first all of the disastrous happenings had commanded the undivided attentions of both of us (my father and I), but as the months flew by our interest was left behind with them. I knew that it was inhumane, in a way, but when this sort of hullabaloo highlighted the news on a daily basis it just seemed less and less impressive.

I had seen the film Cloverfied recently; if a giant alien droped from the sky to reek havoc in America _then_ I'd be excited to tune in again.

"Change the channel, Dad," I mumbled, my lips biting the edge of the mug out of habit. "I'm tired of hearing 'bout all this depressing stuff."

"Blimey, Cam, that's a horrible thing to say. People are _dying_."

I held my father's stare for a long moment until he gave up, holding the remote out and flicking up a few channels. "'S'not like I wanted to listen to another story about buildings blowing up either," he justified. "Let's just be thankful it's not us."

And so, instead, we spent the next thirty minutes with a family comedy series. It was much more entertaining.

* * *

**(A/N) -**_**Sigh**_**- Another story written purely on whim as a result of summer boredom. Personally I lean a bit more towards Fred when it comes to my liking of the twins, but I wanted to avoid the inevitable angst that comes with a Fred/OC fic these days and the AU ending that I'd be deeply tempted to do. So, because of the fact that George is following VERY closely behind as my second favorite twin, here you go. I never agreed with Rowling pairing him off with Angelina anyway!**

**I should mention that I'm an American; I don't know how many things in Europe work, including the schooling. I wrote that Camryn finished sixth form, and from what I understand that would be the last two years of High School, meaning she'd be off to college as the next step. If I'm wrong about that please feel free to correct me! Also, you might have guessed that I got this idea from the line in Half-Blood Prince when George mentions a pretty girl in the paper store who likes his card tricks. Again, I am simply assuming that a paper store is just that: a shop that sells various paper goods and office supplies. ****I've only read a handful of George/OC fics before, so I apologise if this idea isn't as clever as I thought it was and has already been done before ^_^**

**Also, this story will be one of my back-burner fics; unless it gets super popular or something, it won't be a forerunner on my priorities and I may not update it very** **often. So until next time, take care everyone! Review, if you'd like :D**


	2. Chapter 2

**Queen of Hearts**

Chapter Two

* * *

They weren't exactly devastatingly handsome when you thought about it. Their lips were thin, slumping downward when they weren't flashing a signature grin, and creating a less-than-seductive pout on their already weak jaws. If you looked closely enough, their eyes were at somewhat of a tilt, dipping downwards the farther they went from the nose. The skin below the eyes was a bit sagged and swollen, as if the two were always functioning on too little sleep. I thought about the possibility that they roamed the streets at night collecting money for their necromancy rather than resting. In truth, I thought about everything there was to think about Fred and George when I was in the shop without their company.

On this particular day, I had decided that the twins were no more extraordinary than the average man. What I was wondering was what it was about the two ordinary males that captivated me to this extent. It didn't take very long to come up with a theory.

It was a combination of two characteristics that the brothers personified perfectly: mystery and personality. As I'd already admitted, the magician factor was just as intriguing as it was irksome. There was more to the boys than meets the eye, and I was a sucker for a good puzzle (particularly those of the male persuasion). There was no denying that the clandestine shadows hovering around the two was something I longed to uncover. I wanted to know their secrets; I wanted to break through their illusions.

Of course, you couldn't neglect the sense of humor the two possessed. I would like to meet a person who was able to resist their corky charms and not smile at the antics of the two. It was true that physical looks weren't everything, and with the personalities of the Weasleys it was easy to look past the minor flaws in their physic and find yourself wrapped up in their web. I may not know the boys very well, but I had no trouble admitting I had taken a liking the two. I suppose it might be horrible to say, given that I can't even tell them apart or recognize which I feel more for (honestly, they were more of one person in two separate bodies to me), but I didn't think it was too monumental at this point in time. They were merely my customers – it's not like I would actually fall in love with one of them. They would eventually get bored of playing with me and move on to a new toy. I would grow sick of their pestering as well and yearn for a more mature partner in life. Either way, there was nothing to become of the casual relation the three of us shared.

But before we broke ties for good, I would make it my goal to find out just how they did those silly card tricks. I didn't care if I had to beat the answers out of them!

Of course, my life didn't revolve around the twins. I thought about other things, other men. They weren't the only boys who dropped in form time to time, and I didn't spend every moment of my life indoors. When I wasn't on duty or lounging in the flat, I went out like a normal teenager, stirring up trouble with friends and gallivanting around town. Tonight, in fact, I had made plans with a few others to visit a local cinema. The show was only half of the reason for going, the other being the social experience.

When I got off the job at six, I rushed upstairs at record speed and changed my cloths in favor of something more flattering. My make-up was finished quickly, taking up only a third of the time I spent carefully molding the curls in my shoulder-length, chestnut-colored hair. It took me another small portion of time to track down a scarf and gloves to match my outfit, having opted out of wearing a heavy coat, but all in all I was running out the door only three quarters of an hour later in a rush to make it to the center of town before the group left without me.

We had agreed to meet outside of a small food court a short ways from the theatre, which was a relative half-way point for the lot of us. By the time I stumbled my way over, though, I was the straggler.

"Nice of you to show up, Cam," one of the girls, Amelia, commented. Not knowing whether or not her poke was meant to be antagonistic, I chose to address the gaggle as a whole rather than her alone.

"Sorry," I smiled, panting lightly from my jog and sending puffs of white fog from my mouth with every exhale. "I got caught up in the shop. You know, _working_? You've all heard of it, haven't you?"

Reactions ranged from eye-rolls, scoffs, giggles, and groans. One young woman in particular jumped forwards to fling an arm over my shoulder, throwing off my balance and nearly sending the both of us into the icy pavement.

"Of course we know what work is," Emily chirped, squeezing my neck for a moment before pulling out of the embrace. "We have relatives that work. My uncle even got me this new purse with the money from his job, see?"

I forced out a laugh, brushing the handbag out of my face and putting on a practiced smile. It was moments like these when I felt on a completely different planet than the other girls my age; while I came from a small, middle class family, most of the others from school were, for some reason, more well-endowed in regard to their relatives. There were certain times when I found my life just couldn't relate to theirs, such as the class graduation party, when I was in a frenzy to raise enough money to buy both my ticket and pay for all of the expenses that came with the presentation. I was proud that I was able to purchase my own £200 dress, but it didn't change the envy I felt towards others who were simply handed all the money they needed by well-intended elders.

"It's pretty," I said without meaning, finding the jeweled handbag a bit too flashy for my tastes. Even if I couldn't afford genuine, designer materials, I found most of them to be rather gaudy anyway. I thought it was ridiculous how something as simple as a brand name could make certain items as costly as car. I was perfectly fine with my retail clothing. To me, there was really no difference between my style and the girls' except the outrageous price range.

Emily beamed. "Thanks!"

A few of the others had started off down the street, signaling those of us that had stayed behind for the conversation to get moving. There were four other girls beside Emily and myself tagging along for the movie, but I knew that I would be spending a majority of my time by the high-strung girl's side. While I didn't get along badly with the others, Emily's companionship was the only one I felt secure in. Apparently, I was attracted to the more exuberant sorts of people. It helped to explain why I got on so well with the twins, I supposed.

"So, any new boyfriends I should know about?" the preppy blonde inquired, startling me with the irony of her timing. I smiled, shaking my head.

"Nothing serious," I admitted, feeling oddly proud all the same, "just a few frequent men popping into the store."

Emily thrust her chin up, staring into the heavens with a groan and jerking the pom-pom on her knitted hat. "You make me want to get a job, Camryn! It seems like an easy way to meet some decent guys."

"Well, it does help some," I chuckled, biting my lip and eyeing a passing couple. If the attractive man with the motorcycle jacket hadn't had a petite brunette on his arm, I would have thrown him my best grin and fluttered my eye lashes a bit. It was a shame that the crème de la crème of the Y chromosome species seemed to already be claimed. The laws of evolution were still in practice, apparently.

"What about that tattoo artist you told me about," Emily's tone cut into my perusal. "You know, the one who owns his own shop in Sidmouth? Has he been around?"

"No!" I gasped and laughed, having forgotten the man in the first place. "Besides, he was nearly thirty! It was alright to flirt with him, but I would never consider anything more than that - my father would murder me."

"He can't possibly expect you to go for men your own age, Camryn," Emily reasoned logically. "If they're younger than twenty, they aren't worth our time. Too immature, you know."

"I wouldn't say that," I said, finding this as an ideal opportunity to slip the twins into the colloquy. They didn't go against the bar Emily had set of men under twenty being juvenile in any way, but I was eager to confess, and I knew the information was scandalous enough for Emily to forget her previous point. "Just this week I met identical twins who -"

But a sudden blast forced the words back down my throat. I yelped unintentionally, Emily and I reaching for each other on instinct as the ground beneath us rumbled. Together, we watched in horror as an inferno rose above the rooftops some kilometer away. Mouth agape, my eyes were trained on the rising flames, almost mesmerized by the thick, swirling, black smoke levitating upwards to mask the evening sky. What I could only assume were chemicals from the blast amalgamated with the clouds, painting the scene with an iridescent, greenish tinge.

Deafly, I saw as the hundreds of people that had been milling around the streets dropped their jaws in awe, pointing towards the mass of fire that had taken over the cinema building. Those that had been driving shut off their vehicles and stepped out to view from the open. My stomach churned when I realized what had happened: the theatre had _blown up_. Why? What had caused it? Had it been planned? Had there been anyone inside?

"Camryn," Emily whimpered helplessly from my side. I snapped back to reality then, the screams and cries of the crowd crashing into me in full force. Shaking my head , I tried to dry the tears from my eyes through force of will and focused on keeping my grip on Emily's arms as tight as possible, so that she might not notice my own quivering. I needed to pull myself together, for her sake.

"C'mon," I murmured, unlocking my joints and pushing forward. "We need… we need to find the others."

Navigating through the throng was both easy and difficult - easy because no one else dared to move from their spots, and difficult because I knew I should be doing the same. My only miracle came from the fact that the rest of the group hadn't been too far away, and it was only a half-block closer to ground zero when we met up with them. Even from this distance, the stench of burning materials was pungent, a choking heat making it's way to the exposed skin of my face and neck.

"Would you look at that," Amelia breathed. "Did you see that? It just… _boom_."

We had gone out to see a motion picture, but the show that we didn't look away from for a good portion of an hour when the police forced us all away was something I would never forget.

* * *

"We're all going to die," Amelia gushed, eyes wide. "It's just like that movie _Final Destination_. We would have been in the theatre if Camryn hadn't been late and held us all back. It was our time, but we cheated it. We cheated death! Now it's going to come after us and we'll all be murdered in the most brutal way and -"

"Shut up!" the temperamental Hazel snapped, looking cross. "Don't you realize what 'appened? There _were_ people in that theatre. _They_ did die! We all _saw_ it."

Her words only confirmed the grim ideas that had been plaguing me. There had to have been at last a couple hundred unsuspecting individuals who were innocently chewing on their popped corn only seconds before they were turned into ash. I couldn't decide whether I wanted to be there, outside ground zero, to see everything for myself, or go home and wait for news somewhere more comfortable. Was that wrong of me, to want to be comfortable? It didn't matter, anyway. I wasn't.

"It's awful," Emily muttered, her fingers interlaced in my own. I saw her turn to me from my peripheral vision, but didn't bother to look up from the street. "But its true: we'd have been in there, too, if it weren't for you."

"Yeah, thanks," Amelia huffed. "Now rather than die quick and easy I'll be strangled the next time I go for a bath -"

"Ya barmy," Hazel reprimanded harshly, "this isn't a flick! Quit your earbashing, will ya, or I'll cop ya myself."

I could sense that the others wanted to discuss things more, but I wasn't feeling up to it. My mood was dismal, and the only thing I could think of that brought even a hint of pleasure was curling up in my bed and spending some time to myself for a while. I told the others this and made my way home, fully aware of their hesitance to let me go off on my own.

As I walked along the wintry roads, I let my mind wander more freely. Was it true that my ego was the only reason I - and my friends - were still alive? We could have easily been in the building when it went up in flames had I not been so keen on my appearance. Or what if the others hadn't waited for me; what if they had gone off rather than waiting for me? What if I was running after them when I witnessed the blaze? What if they had all been inside and I had been standing by as they turned to coals…

No, I couldn't think about those sorts of things. 'What Ifs' did nothing but rot away your rationality. We weren't in the building, we hadn't been hurt, and that was what I needed to think about. We were lucky - I was thankful. I shouldn't force misery on myself, but put my sympathy out to those who weren't so blessed, the ones who had really been lost and left behind actual loved ones.

It sounded sort of lame, even to me right then. _That_ had to make me a horrible person. Maybe the reason I was trying to force misery on myself was beause I _wasn't_ feeling very miserable. Shouldn't I be feeling miserable? For all those people that had died?

I missed the shop's entrance the first time I passed it. It was a few doors later when I realized that my destination was behind me and I retraced my steps. The tiny bell above the door rang out as I stepped in, filling the silence with a forlorn tune. I half figured that the place would be dark and empty to match my gloom, but the light was on, strangely, since I always made sure to close up properly before I left.

Furrowing my brow, I stepped farther into the room until I came to the counter where I spent my days. My father was seated on the table, shoulders hunched and face resting in his hands. He looked up as I stepped closer, eyes dull and lifeless. I stood wordlessly, complying with the uncommunicative staring match he had initiated with a heavy heart.

Our eyes never left each others even when he stood up and swept me soundly into his arms.

* * *

During my shift some days later, the last things on my mind were Fred and George. Against my will, my conscience just wouldn't leave that night in the past. The shock had worn off and was replaced with more of a curiosity. As tragic as it was, there was something exciting about having witnessed such a thing. The guilt of my feelings was eating away at me still, however. It was wrong that I would be so eager to find out more about the decimation that had injured and ruined so many. A part of me felt that the spontaneous burning of the theatre should have been a private affair between only those directly involved, but my other half was hanging on to the media in an attempt to gobble up all the details that I could.

Even if I hadn't been hoping for a Weasley to show up, the arrival of one (I didn't know which) wasn't something I wouldn't mourn over. A grin sprung up onto my face at the unmistakable ginger locks, and my posture righted itself automatically.

"Down, girl," the boy smirked, finding my enthusiasm amusing. "I'm here for business, not pleasure, although I can't blame you for taking pleasure in my business."

I raised a brow, feeling as if I should know him (whoever he was) well enough by now to expect such a comment. "Confident, aren't you? I'd be careful - that kind of attitude will get you into trouble."

"If only the world could accept my self-assurance," the lone twin said airily with a shrug, heading over to the formal invitations. "Can I take some of these as samples?"

I nodded, not feeling the need to mention that I should be charging him five pence per card that he took. I would cover the cost without complaint.

"Planning something important?" I asked, wondering the cause of his visit. The Weasley didn't turn away from snatching up each differently themed calling card his eyes found.

"A wedding," he grunted, making my stomach jump into my throat at the nonchalance in his tone. "My brother's. Older brother's. Not twin's."

My organs settled, righting themselves as I took a calming breath and tried to make it seem as if the first part of his sentence hadn't fazed me. "Oh, that's nice of you. Weddings are difficult to plan."

The young man snorted as he squatted down to the lower level of displays. "I only got stuck with the job since I chose to lounge at my parents' house rather than go off with my lesser-looking shadow to check in at the shop. Dear old mum won't have me basking in the glory of a full belly when there's work to be done…"

His narration arose more than one question in my mind.

"'The shop'?" I enquired first, that being the foremost point in my list. "You have a shop?"

He looked up from the papers then, eyes twinkling with unmistakable pride. "Right you are, Camryn. A joke shop - Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. My twinny and I own it."

"Own it?" I gasped, eyes nearly popping out from my head. "How old are you?"

"Eighteen."

I couldn't even force myself to gain control over my jaw. I let my lips hang open shamelessly, mulling over this new-found information. The twins weren't bums at all - they were entrepreneurs! Professionals! We were the same age, and here I was living with my father and hanging around in his paper shop as a lame part-time job while those two idiots had a _career_! A life away from home! I had never felt so obsolete.

"A joke shop, eh?" I enunciated shakily. "That's… fitting."

Especially the 'wizard' part of the name. I would have laughed if I hadn't been so mortified. So they really did consider themselves sorcerers, didn't they? Mad scientists brewing potions that were used for crude humor; I could see the vision perfectly.

"Why thank you," the unidentified twin said, suddenly standing before me with a large stack of empty invitations. He held them all in one hand, gesturing towards them with the other. "You sure I don't have to pay for these?"

I gave him my assurance. "It's not a problem. It's only a few pence for an impersonalized sample, so you don't have to bother with it. Give your older brother my congratulations."

"Will do," he promised, lips twirling up smugly. "And as you see, my confidence is well placed - you're only offering to cover the cost of these because you think I'm pretty, aren't you?"

I rolled my eyes, unable to keep the smile from my lips as he giggled girlishly and pretended to blush. "Yes, that's it. Your beauty is spellbinding."

"I knew it," the boy proclaimed. "I always was the better-looking one, as you know. I just can't imagine how that hideous twin of mine will take the news. Oh, what's his name…"

Tapping his chin lightly with a finger on his free hand, the tall ginger gaze at me pointedly. "You don't remember, do you, Camryn? What my brother's name is, I mean?"

I pursed my lips, staring sternly. "You know as well as I do that I can't tell the two of you apart. I don't even know which one _you_ are!"

The Weasley gasped, appalled. "You don't know who I am? And here I thought you liked me! We had a connection - a mutual attraction, even!"

"Stop being so dramatic," I scolded, having enough of his teasing when he threw himself onto the counter top in fake tears. I should have just made him pay for the silly invitations, since he was apparently equipped with a steady income. The thought that they were successfully employed while I was still in the transition to adulthood had easily brought out my bitter side. "There's no reason or way that I should be able to differentiate you and your brother."

Making one last show of wiping his eyes clean of moisture, my tormentor straightened.

"I suppose you have a point," he admitted, helping himself to a plastic bag used to hold purchased merchandise. "Our own mother can't even sort us out most of the time, though our friends don't seem to have much trouble."

He deposited the cards in the bag and slipped his wrist into the holding holes. Bringing his eyes up, his raised his brows studiously. "That'll be your test then, dearest Camryn. If you can learn to tell my brother and I apart, I'll be forced to accept your camaraderie and think of you as a legitimate person rather than just the pretty girl from the paper store."

I blinked, dubious. Was that all he thought of me as? Really? I was just a face to make ogling eyes at not think another thought of the minute he walked out of the store? Was I being taken advantage of?

I was resolute, eyes hardening in determination. There was no way that I would allow this to continue - I wouldn't be some floozy that the boys made fun of and used to get there way. What had I been doing with my life? I needed to be assertive - put them in their place! I was more than just a 'pretty face', and I would make sure this boy and that twin of his knew it.

"I look forward to the challenge then, stranger."

The red-headed teen smirked mischievously, an almost cruel mocking in his eyes. "As do I."

He turned swiftly on his heel then, making way for the exit with a farewell wave of the hand.

"Be careful!" I called out before I could help myself, flushing when the twin paused to send me a questioning look. "It's just… you know about all of the out-of-the-ordinary things that have been happening lately; the mysterious fires and all. My dad thinks gangs are behind it, trying to send some kind of message to the government, so it's not safe to be going out alone. And after what happened at the theatre a few days ago, everyone's been really tense… I was there, you know."

I felt aweful, finding some deranged form of gossip in the sudden deaths and destruction. I suppose, in a way, I was just as hungry for a second opinion on the multiple theories as I was for the truth.

The boy was quiet for a long moment, his vision trained on me, silent and serious. The phase passed, thought, smoothing out as he nodded to himself and headed back for the door.

"Your dad's probably right," he said as he strolled, "it's just a bunch of cowards bend on using chaos to get what they want. You should keep a low profile and stay indoors, though, really. It's dangerous stuff out there."

He made it to the door, pushing it open but holding himself against the frame to grin back at me.

"I can take care of myself, but I don't want you running after me, alright? I know my looks can drive girls and boys alike wild, but a peak at my Adonis physic is nothing to get yourself killed over. Try to hold back and wait for me to come to you, if at all possible. Adieu."

The pompous arse! I wasn't entirely sure how to react. Without a clear course of action, I merely shook my head and went back to working, planning my scheme of identifying the Weasley twins in the back of my mind.

* * *

**(A/N) ...You know, I hate writing a**c**tion/dramatic** **scenes, and this chapter was basically made up of nothing but. Yay, nay, or eh?**


	3. Chapter 3

**Queen of Hearts**

Chapter Three

* * *

The twin at the shop had been Fred. I was sure of it - he had to be.

I think.

When I thought back to everything that I knew about the twins, all signs seemed to point to Fred. I didn't know much, granted, and it was more of an assumption than anything, but it was Fred who often referred to me as "dearest Camryn." That, and the fact that if I squinted closely at my foggy memories, Fred did seem to be the slightly more ruder of the two.

I waited anxiously at my post each day, hoping that one or both of the twins would pop in, and I would be able to test my conclusion and initiate another round of our game. Nearly a week went by in silence, though, bringing me into December without a sighting of any gingers.

My spirits were a bit dampened, but the Christmas cheer that multiplied as the days went by was an adequate replacement. It was impossible not to be giddy when the air was filled with frost, pine wreaths, and Yuletide carols, regardless of whether I was working or not. After the scare at the cinema, neither my father nor I were too keen on having me gallivanting around the city whenever I grew restless. To sooth my father's nerves and keep me under a safe eye, my shift had expanded to include every day of the week - minus Saturday and Sunday. I was sure I'd be furious with the arrangement once the weather warmed, but for now I was subdued as a result of the winter holidays.

Between customers, I had taken up embellishing the store with the boxes of decorations that had been stored away in the attic. Everything from strings of tiny, twinkling lights to garland, tree ornaments, and flourishing ribbons hung form the ceiling, wrapped around banisters and encompassed my cashier station. The project was an ideal way to keep myself both entertained and in good spirits. I had completed the task in only two days, however, and didn't dare to add on to my artwork and risk a tawdry appearance.

But even the holidays had their down sides, of course. While there were more civilians wandering in, the higher numbers also brought higher tensions. The countdown to the twenty-fifth was made up of stressing shoppers and desperate teens hoping for temporary employment. I wasn't sure which was worse: middle-aged woman huffing at the scarce supply of wrapping papers (but still buying multiple roles) or adolescent procrastinators who had waited until the last minute to think about raising money for gifts. I had trouble believing that they honestly thought that they would be hired for only three weeks and still make decent earnings.

To my utmost surprise, my father informed me of a new addition to the staff that I would be training during the upcoming Saturday. Apparently, someone had convinced him to give them the week-end shift that I wouldn't be working, assuring him that the impending holidays wouldn't bring any trouble. I found something about the arrangement that I was oddly envious of. I hoped it wasn't a middle-aged women looking for her newest husband, but I was put at ease with the thought that my family wasn't one that a gold-digger would consider a prime catch. Also, Dad would usually supervise any recruits he found himself for all of ten minutes before he deemed them ready to perform without his guidance, so I wondered why he had appointed the honor to me.

I asked him myself only minutes before my colleague was expected to arrive, an hour before the shop's opening.

"I've got work," he replied, securing a belt around his hips. "The city wants the theatre rebuild as soon as possible to calm everyone's nerves - to try to make it seem like only a minor setback. People have been migrating like mad trying to get away from the gangs, you know. Anyway, the reconstruction should keep me busy for a while, so my electrical expertise will claim most of my attention 'till the spring. Try not to think of me as a human bank, eh? Remember what I look like."

I snorted, sensing a startling likeness between his smug sarcasm and a certain twin's.

"I'll keep a photo of you in my pocket to remind me."

"Good."

He was off soon after, leaving me abandoned in the flat for a short time. I made sure to sip thoughtfully on a cup of hot chocolate, mentally preparing my day. I figured that I'd stay home, remaining close by the shop to check in periodically and make sure everything was all right. I couldn't imagine leaving a novice alone in my father's business, so I didn't mind a day of lounging in front of the television and exploring the internet. I could get my Christmas shopping done some other time.

I made my way down to the shop fifteen minutes before the planned meeting time, anticipating the possibility of an anxious and early worker.

Thirty minutes _after_ the planned meeting time, the tiny bell above the store's door went off.

Irritated, I opened my mouth to relay my disappointment as the person walked up to the counter. Getting my first view of the girl, my jaw further unhinged and the words died in my throat.

"Hazel?" I exhaled incredulously, not quite trusting my eyes. I had woken up abnormally early for a Saturday, after all. I found it more likely that I was still dreaming than seeing the onyx-haired princess walking in as an employee.

"'Mornin'," she muttered, unfazed. She rubbed her eyes, looking a bit worse for wear. "Do I come in this early every time I 'ave to work?"

I tried to shake off my shock, finding it more difficult than I would have liked. "You're late, actually," I told her, taking a deep breath to gather my wits while barely missing her frown.

"Luvverly jubberly," she sighed, slumping farther into the room until she was leaned up against the check-out desk. "So, where do I start?"

"Erm…" I started, not quiet _knowing _where to start. What was one of my wealthy acquaintances doing here? And not only just showing up at all - that was nothing - but offering their servitude?

I refused to humor her. "What are you doing here, Hazel?"

She blinked, apparently thrown off for a moment by my brusque blabbering. Her expression settled into contempt once the whammy wore off.

"Dad's cut me off," she drawled. "'Said I needed to start pulling my own weight. It's a cock and bull story, thought; he's just upset that I maxed out his credit card."

My lips slid open. "How did you do that?"

"Shopping, a' course."

"Oh," I furrowed my brows lightly, "for the holidays? You must have gotten a load of gifts."

Hazel sent me a look that would suggest I had just mentioned that I knew a couple of wizards. "Gifts for the 'olidays? Gordon Benet, no! Prezzies for me, more like it."

She must have noticed my aghast.

"Don't look at me like that!" she defended, standing up taller. "My family is a bunch of agnostic cabbages: they don't celebrate the 'olidays! I consider my purchases the things I should have been given over the past eighteen years 'round this season," she nodded, resolute.

For once, I had to credit the girl's parents for making a brilliant decision. It was about time one of my mates wandered into reality and joined me in the world of drudgery.

"Yeah," I agreed, lying through my teeth, "that's awful!"

"Anyway," Hazel sighed, apparently content with the sympathy I fed her, "I remembered that your father owned this place, so I rang him after my dad administered the sentence. I figured it'd be best to veg out here since I know you and all; it'll be a doodle, won't it? What is it I even have to do?"

…She really didn't know? How had my father hired this girl?

"Well, it's easy, really," I said, scratching my neck. This turn-out was probably more awkward then if it were a stranger standing before me. I knew Hazel, but not on a personal level. And at this point, I wasn't sure that I wanted to get any closer. "A bit boring, actually. Just stand behind the counter and ring out the customers. That's… basically it."

They were incredibly lame instructions, I knew, but all of the mental preparations for this moment had been wasted. I was still trying to grasp the fact that a girl like Hazel would be getting paid for actual labor.

"Hm, really?" she hummed, piping her brow in mild interest. Looking like a snoop, she tip-toed her way around the counter and eyed the other side warily. "It looks strange from this angle," she pointed out, taking her post and scanning the empty store. "I've never been on this side before."

Not knowing what to say, I simply bit my lip in silence as she drew out her scrutiny. My mind was whirling, buzzing with ideas about phoning my father, shutting down the store for the day, or just telling Hazel that she only had an hour long shift (something she would likely believe and would bring us both happiness when she left). The only thing I did know was that this arrangement _would_ _not_ work. While my initial response had been a stupor, I now found my gut churning with some sort of ill-feeling towards this girl and our proximity. The notion increased as more time passed, Hazel's expression twisting at certain aspects of the modest establishment.

Amidst the impending stress of tutoring Hazel, the very last thing I needed was a horribly timed visit from the Weasleys. As it worked out, fate held a grudge against me.

The pounding on the door startled the both of us, but it was Hazel who, surprisingly, was the first to gain her sense and make an accurate observation.

"The place isn't open yet, is it?" she queried, raising a brow. "What kind 'a barmy's out 'in about this early on the weekend? Especially wantin' to get in _here_?"

I shot her a dark look, already worked up enough by this entire ordeal to hear any shots at the business. My pounding journey to the door was more melodramatic than I would have liked, but in my state of mind I didn't put any mind to controlling myself better. When I pulled it open, I barely registered the twins' grins, only recognizing that I didn't need to try so hard to be polite when familiar faces were concerned.

"We're closed," I snipped, already making to retreat. "Come back later."

"Don't be like that," one said, slipping his shoe into the space I had poked my head out before I could pull away. "It's right frigid out here and we wanted the warm atmosphere and even warmer company of our favorite muggle and her paper. Besides, we've brought you a present!"

"Give it to me another time," I huffed, trying to nudge his food out off of the threshold. While the brother at the receiving end of my abuse held strong, his counterpart seemed to show some concerns for my condition.

"You alright, Camryn?"

I glanced at the speaker, feeling myself calm somewhat at his genuine care. My anger inflated, however, when the other, evil doppelganger took advantage of the distraction and pushed his way in, giggling in glee.

The growl that left me was near demonic. "I told you you couldn't come in! What part of 'go away' weren't you able to grasp?"

"The bit about why anyone in their right mind wouldn't want carbon copies of gods in their presence."

"Is this a bad time?"

Although the second voice was airy, one look to his softly smirking face told me he was just a bit more sympathetic than his trespassing twin.

"Yes," I huffed, "very."

"Good," piped Number One, pulling a cage out from behind him. In the folds of my head I wondered how he had managed to keep it hidden, but there were more important things to take care of at the present.

"I don't want that."

"You don't even know what it is."

"I don't need to know what it is. I haven't the time to -"

"You're dampening the holiday cheer. Take some time to sit down and smell the owl droppings."

"You're an annoying, disgusting prat and I wouldn't accept that … _**that's an owl!**_"

"Why yes, yes it is."

And it was. I forgot how to breath for a moment, the past leaving me altogether as I mindlessly gaped at the fair-sized bird. I'd never seen an owl before in person. I was a bit disappointed I couldn't fully take its appearance in, as its head was tucked snugly beneath its wing.

"Just your common barn owl," Number Two shrugged, as if he saw this type of thing daily. "Nothing special, but we thought you'd enjoy it. Happy Christmas."

My jaw flapped a few times before I was able to vocalize anything. "W-whah…how… can't be legal… where -"

"Don't question, just take," said Number One, holding the metal contraption out. I eyed the antique-looking cage, noting that in proportion to the animal it was quiet small. "Don't you know the rules about gifts?"

"I…"

I didn't know what to say. It was the most bizarre (and unexpected) gift I had ever received. I hadn't planned to get anything at all from or for the boys, so an animal - an _owl _- of all things… I didn't know what to make of it. If anything, this just further convinced me that I would be waking up at any moment.

The twins waited in a patient, smug silence until I could get somewhat of a hold on myself. "I'm almost afraid to ask," I gulped eventually, placing a hand to my forehead, "but where did you get it?"

"At the Eeylops Owl Emporium, of course," answered Number Two. "You're lucky - we got this one just before the owners jumped ship and abandoned the place."

"Why do they sell owls?"

"Because it's an Owl Emporium. It's what they do."

"How much was it?"

"That's irrelevant."

"What do I feed it?"

"Barely anything. Just let out at night for a hunt and it should take care of itself."

"Will it come back if I let it out?"

"It's not a twit - it knows where home is."

"Do I need a permit for it?"

"Why would you need permission to keep an owl?"

My eyes bulged. "It's a wild animal!" I screeched, gesticulating. "You're not allowed to keep or buy wild animals without government papers! They probably cost more money than I have in my life savings, and without regulation you must have nicked it from some underground black market! You didn't, did you? Please tell me you didn't do anything illegal. I can't have police knocking on my door asking why I've got a stolen owl. I can't _keep_ a stolen owl. I can't keep any owl! It must take a load of work to handle. I can't clean up after it and just let it fly around the village and it must hoot bloody murder…"

When I trailed off, on the edge of hyperventilating, Number One and Number Two slowly broke out into mirroring beams.

"Muggles are such queer creatures."

"Purely fascinating, brother mine."

I wasn't sure if I would be able to string together another sentence. My head was too frazzled. I sensed a malfunction on its way. This day, still hours away from noon, had already been packed with enough drama to last me a week.

"Camryn… are these friends of yours?"

"No," my voice sounded in response to Hazel's critical polling, although I had no control over any words I was saying. My body had gone into autopilot. "They're leaving."

I could only assume my veneer had begun to show my internal meltdown, as both of the boys frowned slightly, eyebrows knitted in worry.

"Apparently," Number One muttered, "our timing was not the type of bad that could be turned around by our visit, George."

Number Two (whom I now knew to be George) nodded in agreement. "Right you are, Fred. We should probably get going."

He glanced towards the hovering Hazel, puzzlement flashing across his features before he brushed it aside and nodded in acknowledgement. I was glad he had the sense not to question her at the moment, merely nudging his brother's side and motioning in the direction of the door. Fred cleared his throat, reacquainting the usual smile to his lips.

"Good day, ladies," he dismissed, following George to the door. The latter paused before stepping out, pulling his lips up sympathetically. By the time my brain began regaining function, they were gone and Hazel had wandered closer, watching my expression meticulously.

"So those tea leaves forced their way in," she reiterated slowly, trying to gather the details, "'ounded you, dropped off some bloody bird and flittered off the second a witness walked in?"

My eyes rolled up to the ceiling, a helpless drone falling out from between my teeth. I could easily envision Hazel's steady, leery exhale.

"What sort 'a place are you runnin' here, Regan? I hope this ain't some sort 'a 'eadquarters. Druggies are the last thing I need to deal with…"

She had no room to say a thing, I thought.

* * *

Owls were supposed to hoot. It was an elementary fact. My owl, however, didn't. It screamed at an ear-shattering pitch, three times as shrill as a kettle.

When it had finally woke, only a few short minutes after I snuck away from Hazel later on that morning, choosing not to burden myself with babysitting for a few minutes, I actually had to stop and appreciate how beautiful the creature was. The face was a startling white, the heart-shape framed by honey-colored plumage that extended along the backbone and speckled wings. It seemed to look right through me for a moment before ruffling its feathers and promptly returning to its snooze. I took my time getting it upstairs, not wanting to cause it any more of a disturbance.

That evening, though, once Hazel made her way home and I locked the lower levels (in truth, I barely remembered the day at all as a result of willful thinking), I returned to my flat. While I'd also learned that owls were nocturnal, my bird also seemed to defy that law. It was wide awake at five o'clock, shuffling on its perch restlessly and vocalizing its discomfort. It was the last straw on an already dreadful day.

"I hear you, I hear you, quiet down," I begged, falling to my knees beside the bars as the quintessence of pity. Thankfully, my pet heeded my request, eyeing me with an intelligence I would have been fascinated with at an alternate time. I lifted my eyes up, catching its stare. "I don't know what to do with you, so please be patient."

It regarded me smartly, letting out a noise of subdued protest before, once again, settling into a grudging quiet. The docility it displayed washed over me like a warm shower, intoxicating my fried sense.

"The twins told me to let you out at night, didn't they?" I mentioned off-handedly, hearing the bird hoot in confirmation. "Probably just want me to get arrested, those two. I can't just release an owl into a suburban town. You were raised in captivity, weren't you? You won't be able to adjust to the wild. You'll be killed. And you're no pigeon, you won't just find your way back here like they -"

I gasped, throwing my hands up to cover my ears when it released an especially loud, almost indignant screech. My lips pursed, stare turning patronizing.

"Fine, then," I huffed, pulling myself to my feet and lifting the cage with me. "It's not as if I can take proper care of you anyway. Good luck out there."

I returned the cage to the floor momentarily to pull open the window before heaving it up to rest on the sill. Being mindful of the bird's beak, I unhitched the doorway and, craning my body and arm back as much as possible, swung it open. The owl wasted barely a moment of time before sending me a single, unreadable look and taking off. The empty cage jolted from the missing weight, costing me a heartbeat as I struggled to readjust it. By the time I looked up, the owl was well on its way, soaring above the rooftops like a ghost.

It was in seeing that sight that I realized what I had just done.

"I dumped my bird out the window," I uttered smally. "I just let it go without a thought. I abandoned it. That must be some sort of animal abuse…"

I was an animal abuser. It was kept behind those minuscule bars by day and left to fend for itself in the unknown jungle by night. The poor thing was going to die and it was all my fault.

There was nothing else for me to do but phone my father goodnight, stumble into bed, curl into my pillow and wish that the so-called wizards would be graced with the power to remove the past 12 hours from my memory.

* * *

**(A/N) I'm a **_**liar**_**! I deeply apologize to those of you who I spoke to privately and promised an update by New Years to. And as you can see, it was meant to be out before the holidays in the first place.**

***FAIL***


	4. Chapter 4

**Queen of Hearts**

Chapter Four

* * *

It was an insistent, hollow hammering that I woke up to the next morning. My senses came back to me in a daze, my mind linking with the world at the rate of ocean floor spreading. A part of me wanted to believe that the noise was just an unconscious imagining, but when I realized I had the sense enough to _know_ I was dreaming, I was forced to admit that my state of being might have been more realistic than I would have liked.

I laid unmoving for a while, limiting the sound to just another background happening. A good quarter of an hour must have passed before it began to bother me, and the more minutes that trickled by thereafter, the louder the knocking seemed to become. When it came to the point where I couldn't take it anymore, there was no more feigning ignorance.

I moaned as I rolled out from under my blankets, pausing for a moment to take in the chill before starting to my feet. I padded over to my bureau to grab a sweater, training my ears as I went. Once the fabric had cleared my head and been tugged into place, I moved towards the window, which I reckoned would be the vantage point in finding out where that racket was coming from.

Any residual drowsiness was whipped away at the sight of an owl on the opposite side of the glass. _My_ owl.

I was only able to gape for a moment before the bird (glaring, I could swear!) jerked its beak forward to deliver an especially meaningful pang against the glass. Heeding the request, I surged forward and unlatched the lock, hauling the window open and stepping aside just long enough for the owl to swoop inside. I spun around after pushing the window back into place (fumbling over shaking finger as I did so), breathless.

The bird bypassed its original cage completely (not that I could blame it - I'd tossed it onto an uneven pile of clothing before falling into bed the night before), choosing instead to nestle itself at the peak of my antique, full-length mirror. It let out a slight screech when its weight unbalanced the tower, but morphed the objection into a hoot of contentment once its equilibrium was restored.

By the time I caught my breath, the bird had stuffed its head under its wing. I took that as its sleeping position and, after regaining a portion of my sense, began to inch my way out of the room as quietly as possible. When I had pulled the door to a careful close behind me, the truth of my situation struck me like a whip.

I'd just forfeited my bedroom to a bird.

What was even worse: I would do it again, without another thought. Pretty or not, that owl – rather, its presence under my roof – terrified me.

All the same, I tried not to let it get to me. For the moment, at least. I would worry about it later, when I was no longer needed; my clerking duties began in only twenty minutes (why hadn't my alarm gone off?).

As luck had it, I had put some laundry into the wash the day before and most of my toiletries were already in the restroom, so there was really no dire need to interrupt the bird's sleep while I got myself ready for work. After grabbing a quick breakfast and reading over a note from my father (he'd left for his own job not too long before I'd woken up, apparently), I made my way down stairs and prepared to open the shop. With the lights on and sign flipped, there wasn't much else to do but keep myself entertained until someone wandered in with a papery need.

Given the circumstances taking place in my home at the moment, I chose to occupy my time with imagining innovative ways to torture the twins using the everyday office supplies at my immediate disposal. Honestly, who gives a girl a _bird_ for the holidays? A live bird? And an owl, at that! I like animals just fine, but not when they were relying on me for survival. The boys couldn't possibly have been serious about it. Yet, it wasn't humorous in the least as a joke. I wasn't sure if anger or confusion was more prominent in my feelings towards them. How, and why, had they done it?

I wondered if I could drop the owl off at some sort of wildlife park. If I told them I'd found it injured and nursed it back to health, maybe real scientists would be able to determine whether or not it could be released into the wild, and take on the according responsibilities. Either way, anywhere was better than here. I needed to do something with it, and letting it dominate my space was _not_ an option. It would be the end of both of us: its life, and my sanity.

My nerves jumped when the bell above the door chimed. I bolted into a better posture, plastering a smile in expectation for an early-rising customer. It fell just as swiftly, though, when it was a ruffled looking Hazel that stepped into the store.

She was scowling as she wrestled with her scarf, stomping her feet on the welcoming mat to be ridden of any clinging snow. I could have slapped myself. Of course, she was the new week-end employee. I didn't have a job today.

I could still be in bed, if the situation had permitted it.

Hazel looked up once she had completed her adjustments, brushing some onyx fringe away from her eyes.

"Oh, you're 'ere," she observed unnecessarily, a light pout on her lips. "You're feeling better, are ya?"

"What do you mean?" I asked, somewhat detached. It was no wonder my alarm hadn't gone off. That bleeding bird, and those bleeding twins…

"Well, you were right dischuffed yesterday, weren't ya?" she blurted without remorse. "I thought you'd be having a lie-in about now. Don't know why you're not, actually. Do ya know what I would give to be able to chuck a sickie?"

I regained my slump, drumming my fingers along the countertop and consoling myself with the notion that it was probably for the best that I was here to watch over things. Despite not causing any riots the day before, Hazel _was_ still a new employee.

"I'll head up soon," I decided after a few moments of heavy silence. "I just wanted to make sure you were settled before leaving you to yourself."

Hazel harrumphed as she made her way to the desk, slipping off her coat and brushing me out of the way. I stepped away from the counter, slightly affronted.

"That's all natty and sterling and everything," she said, "but I did do this job on my own just fine yesterday. Ya weren't much help just starin' into the walls like a wally. 'Sides, this gig is easy. Even had the time to look up the postal code for the funny farm, I did."

"That's nice."

I should have been the bigger person the day before and focused on the matter at hand. She hadn't talked to customers with that kind of brutish honesty, had she? And did she know not to speak with that sloppy slang?

She stared at me for a bit more before granting me a single, curt nod. "Well, chivvy on then," she said, reluctant. "I may have to bodge around here, but you don't."

I took to studying her for a moment. Was it really alright to let her be? I suppose she had handled herself without much trouble the day before, but I was still wary; I knew her too well, and didn't trust anyone completely with my father's store.

Eventually, after some deep, hasty debate, I nodded.

"Alright," was my consent. "I'll just be upstairs for a bit then, I suppose."

My legs backpedaled for the first few steps, and I was able to watch as Hazel raised a brow, sending a single, sarcastic wave my way. Understanding how strange I must have been acting during the last twenty-four hours, I gave a sheepish smile before turning around and launching myself up the stairs and into the flat.

Taking in a deep breath as the door shut behind me, I took my time stepping up to the couch, wondering where to start and what to do. It seemed like it'd been a lifetime since I'd last had extended time to myself - at least, not following a tiresome shift of my own. I was at a loss. What was I supposed to do for an entire day?

With a lip-shuddering sigh, I sank into the sofa cushions and picked up the remote control.

* * *

I was in the middle of dazing off during some mid-morning talk show when the telephone rang. I snapped back into the moment, my eyes darting around the room dumbly in search of the cordless. As the same time, I tried to think back to the last place I had used it. It didn't take long.

I'd used it speaking to my father last night, in my bedroom.

"Shite," I hissed, leaping to my feet and sprinting into the hall. I made it to my door and hesitated outside, pausing only long enough to wince before letting myself in. I didn't let myself look up as I pounced onto my mattress, reaching for my bedside table and snatching up the phone in a fluid motion.

"Hello?" I answered, keeping my voice to a whisper as my eyes darted towards the mirror in the corner. The owl's head was still stuffed under its wing, but was it just me or did its body look too stiff to be unconscious?

"_Hey, Cam. Why are you whispering?_"

I cursed silently, inching my way off of the bed and towards the hall, keeping my eyes trained on the bird. There was no movement, but its body didn't relax. I waited until after I had stepped over the threshold before responding to Emily.

"No reason," I said, tone switching to its usual decibel as I locked the bird's image behind closed doors. I let out a breath, a weight lifting from my shoulders. "How are you, Em?"

There was movement on the other end of the line, as if Emily had just flung herself onto some furniture of her own. "_Dreadfully bored!_"

"Am I supposed to help with that?" I said, chuckling as I made my way back towards the sitting room, this time with leisure.

"_Of course_," she chirped. "_I just spoke with Hazel, and I heard you have the day off, so _-"

"Wait," I interjected, regaining my seat in front of the television and turning the volume down with the remote. "You just spoke with Hazel? When, exactly?"

"_Oh, erm…twenty minutes ago, maybe?_"

I glanced at the analogue lock on the wall, tongue between my teeth. "But _she's_ supposed to be working."

"C_alm down, Camryn. Maybe she's just taking a break. No offense, but I'm sure there aren't many shoppers raising pitchforks at the counter that she's ignoring_."

"Well, yeah, but -"

"_Besides, I'm sure you've done it before when business was slow. Actually, I _know_ you've done it before - you've phoned me and complained about it how business was slow_."

I pursed my lips. She had a point, but it still wasn't the same. It was my father's store - I'd practically grown up behind the register. It was only her second day, and as far as I was concerned she hadn't started out on the right foot in the first place.

"Fine, fine," I consented, not in the mood to argue. I suppose it wasn't that big of a deal anyway; I was probably being too hypocritical. "What did you call for, then?"

"_So snippy_," Emily chided. "_But you're right, I did have a motive. Now, if I know you, you're probably lounging around the house twiddling your thumbs or something as equally pathetic…_"

I looked down at my lap, where I was twirling the fringe along an afghan between my fingers.

"…_so I thought we could help each other out here. Scratch my back and I'll scratch yours, you know?_"

My eyes rolled on their own accord. "Your point, please?"

"_We're going out. That's it. No arguments. Be here in an hour?_"

"So I've got no say in this, have I?" Even as I spoke, I stood and made for the laundry room.

"_Absolutely none, that's right_."

"And I have to be the one to walk to your house? You do know there's violent gangs out there waiting for some stupid girl to walk past their alley, don't you?"

As soon as I realized what I said, I bit my lip, wishing I could take it back. Would she take it the wrong way? It wasn't something I should joke about - it was true.

"_Blimey_," Emily breathed, "_I didn't even think about that! I'm sorry, Camryn. You're right. I'll get ready and pick you up outside of the village, alright? I told you my dad got me a mobile phone, didn't I? I'll call you from the car when I get there_."

"Well, I suppose. If you're sure…"

I felt only a little guilty that she would be going out of her way, but most of me was glad that I wouldn't have to trample my way through the cold outside and risk the trip myself.

"_I'm sure. See you then, Cam! Bring your wallet, just in case_."

"If you say so."

I brought the phone away from my ear, turning the device off and tossing it on top of the clothes washer as I approached it. Sinking down to rest my weight on my haunches, I dug through the mound of laundry that I had piled into a basket earlier that morning, looking for something more fashionable to wear than my current jeans-and-tee combination. Unfortunately, there wasn't much of an offered improvement. Most of my going-out outfits were back in my wardrobe, in my bedroom.

Along with my more-than-basic cosmetics and hair supplies.

I toyed with the idea of entering my bedroom to retrieve a few things, but shot it down after about a blink's worth of debate. That was all the time it took for me to develop a vivid mental picture of a dive-bombing, sleep-deprived owl.

No, today would be limited to a comfy-casual appearance.

* * *

It was nearly closing time when I returned to the store, stomach stuffed full of pasta and a single bag in my hands. I should have known Emily would bring me out shopping, especially after she mentioned bringing money along with me. If I had any reason to feel guilty about the amount I had spent, I could easily put myself at easy knowing I had at least purchased all of the Christmas gifts that I needed to. That, and the taste of the tiramisu Emily and I had split for desert lingering on my tongue.

When I stumbled into the shop, barely noticing as the bell above me went off, Hazel was there waiting. Her greeting was anything but welcoming, though.

I froze on the welcoming mat, heart seizing when I saw her body slumped unconscious along the check-out counter.

But the ringing that I managed to ignore with practice startled my co-worker out of her nap. Hazel gave a brief, fright-driven snort and jolted upwards, blinking blearily around the room. Her eyes found me, and the stiffness in her joints settled visibly. My muscles took their time relaxing.

"Bugger," she exhaled, dipping her shoulders again and reaching up to dig the heel of her hand into the skin below her eye socket. "Ya had me bricking it there."

"Sorry to interrupt your sleep," I said dryly, my stare cool and accusatory. Hazel wasn't phased, merely letting off a yawn.

"As if ya 'aven't ever taken forty winks on the clock," she said. "I worked yesterday and today; I'm bloody knackered."

I nearly snapped back, ready to reminding her that I took the same shift five days straight during the week, but thought against it. It was her first job, and she'd only just started, so it was probably better to restrain myself. She wasn't used to the routine, and apparently didn't know the rules (however common-sense I considered them).

"I get that, but..." I struggled to find the words, avoiding her gaze. Somewhere in me, I knew I should have been more assertive with her. Problem was, I couldn't even bully myself into showing a little backbone. "Just… no sleeping on the job, alright? What if a customer had come in and seen you passed out on the register?"

"You saw what would 'ave 'appened, Regan. That bloody bell would 'ave woken me up."

My brow furrowed helplessly. "That's not the point."

Hazel apparently took pity on me this time, batting a dismissive hand. "Don't lose your 'ead, ya kook. I've got the gist of it. Customer comes first, right?"

Unable and unwilling to elaborate, I merely shuffled my feet and nodded. She seemed subdued by my docility and laid forward on the counter, keeping her head up this time.

"You 'ad visitors while you were out, by the way," she went on, eyeing my bag with envy. "Those nancy-boys, actually."

"Nancy-boys?" I was lost for only the amount of time it took for a smirk to form on Hazel's lips. "The twins?"

Her chin dipped, as did the direction of her smile. "I don't know what you're playin' at with those two, Regan, but I'll 'ave ya know I don't trust them a bit. A little _too_ charmin', if ya know what I mean."

Her opinion was lost on me. My steps turned swift as I neared the station, shopping bag swinging at my side.

"What'd they say, Hazel?" I demanded, finder curling into the edge of the counter. She pulled back a bit. "I mean, did they say anything? Aba…ah, well, what'd they want?"

I'd almost asked if they'd said anything _about me_. Maybe it was hubris on my part, but I didn't think they visited so often because they _really_ liked paper. They owed me an explanation. I _needed_ an explanation.

Hazel's eyes narrowed, and I knew she wasn't pleased with my sudden, avid interest. "'Said they would get in touch with ya later on tonight. That's all."

I felt her eyes trained on me as I pondered that information, staring off to the side.

"Camryn," she started off, slowly, "ya aren't gonna be sneakin' out 'a your tree to meet up with those two and their hoo-ha, are ya?"

My jaw was stuck open, and it took me some floundering before I could respond.

"N-no," I stammered, shaking my head. "No, of course not."

Her brow raised. "So you're going to talk with them on the phone, then?"

"No. We've never exchanged numbers. We're not even close enough for that sort of thing."

"Uh-huh." Hazel, clearly, didn't buy into my dumbfounded visage. "So 'ow are they gettin' in touch with ya, then?"

My eyes climbed their way up at a steady pace until they met hers, active in apprehension. The calming result of my retail therapy were long forgotten. "I have no idea."

* * *

It was probably silly, I knew, but I found myself avoiding windows after I released the owl that night. Knowing it was out, I had secured all possible entrances to the flat and made sure the shop itself was locked up extra tight. For the first time in an admittedly long time, I found myself wishing my father would surprise me by coming home early, rather than his usual erratic schedule. He wasn't a small man, after all, and there was no good father out there who wouldn't chase away teenage boys sniffing around his little girl.

Some time around nine o'clock, I berated myself for being so paranoid. I may not know Fred and George very well personally, but I was sure that the precautions were being taken just a bit too far. The twins were harmless, really. They wouldn't go as far as to stalk me, or break into the flat. They were troublemakers, I was sure, but not lawbreakers. Not to that extent.

Maybe all of those gang rumors were getting to me. Getting to everyone, I suppose. Reports of violence dominated the new across the country, what with the unrelenting terrorism sweeping through England. It was odd, to be honest. There didn't seem to be very much fact or evidence to work off of, despite the large-scale range of the crimes lately; things just blew up, people died or disappeared, and there was nothing else to be done but run blind. Why couldn't the perpetrators be caught? It wasn't as if they could just drop out of the sky, do the deed, and vanish in a puff of smoke. What was taking so long, and why weren't there more answers?

The topic was grim, but at least it distracted me from worrying about two gingers falling down my chimney.

Eventually, I forced myself to let it go and calm down. Once again seated in front of the television, I munched on a bowl of popcorn while I caught the tail end of an older BBC movie. It didn't take long before I was horizontal, my snack retired to the floor and my eye lids growing heavy.

That was when a chillingly nostalgic knocking lulled me out of catatonia.

Like that morning, I tried to disregard the sound - this time as white noise from the television. But my muscles stiffened, and the thought of it wouldn't stop nibbling at my underside of my eyes. Clenching my teeth, I pulled myself up, reached for the remote, took aim, and hit the mute button.

There was silence. Complete silence. I sighed.

And then a distant pang.

I was up before I could think about what I was doing.

"It can't be back yet," I murmured to myself as I stalked across the room. It seemed perfectly logical to assume the culprit was my owl, and so it was only a matter of finding which window the bird was waiting in. I made for my bedroom first, knowing it was the most likely place. The only thing outside of the glass was frost, though.

I stayed rooted on the spot for a moment, weighing my options. Maybe I was just going insane and imagining things?

Another knock sounded from somewhere behind me.

A heavy exhale left my nose and I turned on my heels, marching back into the main portion of my home. Every panel of glass that I passed received a perfunctory search, but my primary target was the kitchen. I wasn't sure why, but I somehow figured, subconsciously, that that room housed a modestly sized bay window - its grandeur in comparison was the animal equivalent of a front door.

When the window did come into view, my ankles buckled in place, and my jaw loosened.

I had been right: there was an owl outside of the window. The only thing was, it wasn't _my_ owl.

The bird that was there, at least, appeared far more patient than the one I currently held claim to. It merely watched me with wide, weary eyes while I stared.

As soon as the initial wave of shock wore off, I tore my gaze away. My eyes darted around the room, searching for something I wasn't sure of. Maybe it was just ignorance on my part; if I didn't look at it, maybe it wouldn't be there at all. If I wasted time, maybe dad would come home and save me.

But I wasn't in the place to wait. I wasn't sure if it was more out of curiosity or the sort of stupidity that tagged along with fear and impatience, but my feet slid forward on the tile. I gulped, licking my lips, and looked up. This time, I wasn't able to break away. My lips parted, my breaths passing between my teeth, and I stepped forward, body posed in defense. Each footfall was deliberate. Cautious. I didn't know what to make of the situation, but it wasn't one that I could just walk away from.

My arm reached out, unsteady, towards the window latch. My body had stopped a bit of a ways away, and I had to lean in as much as was physically possible for my fingers to brush against the lock. It took a slight lunge for the hook to lift free, and I put all of my energy into pulling the window open and, as I had done in the incident this morning, ducking out of the way.

The owl's reaction was anticlimactic. Unlike mine had done not twelve hours ago, this bird took its time ambling in from outside, not even opening its wings as it hopped down from the pane and fell straight into the sink.

I flinched at the sound of its fall, the bird letting out a shrieking hoot of its own. It hobbled around in the basin for a bit, feathers ruffled and talons scratching the metal trough. I'd almost worked up the nerve and step in to help it out when it did so itself, half leaping, half flying up onto the counter top. A soap bottle and sponge dish were knocked to the ground in the process, clanging as they rolled along the floor.

For the moment, I kept my distance and observed the scene before me. This owl was quite large - nearly double the size as mine - and round, with feathers that were so short and weather worn they almost looked like a mass of grey-and-black fur. I wasn't sure how exactly you told a birds' age, but I got the impression of a senile old man. Still, there was something about this one that seemed far less intimidating than the younger barn owl that had taken over my bedroom.

I might have been motionless and brooding for some time after that, but the bird's next move - holding out its leg - snapped me out of my stupor. It was then that I noticed the scroll of paper tied to the limb.

I didn't realize my jaw was hanging open, and I didn't bother to close it as I moved in. The reality of the situation left me, although confusion buzzed through my nerves in some distant dimension. I tried to keep my mind away from the moment, pretending that my hands weren't shaking as my finger tips brushed the scroll. It made doing it all the much easier, and by then there was no turning back.

My eyes squeezed shut before I could stop myself, my face turning away on instinct. When no pain came from the move, however, I forced myself to look back at what I was doing. The bird was completely unperturbed by my closeness. Holding my breath the entire time, I handled the string like the wires of a bomb until it was unwound, and the note free.

With each step I took back, I worked on unfolding the note, juggling with keeping both the bird and my task in sight. The paper, I was mildly startled to find, was actually some kind of parchment. It was a bit fancier than your average printer or notebook paper, and I'd rarely seen it used outside of formal purposes or childrens' school projects. I put my suspicions on hold, though, as I braced myself against the edge of the dining room table, staring at _my name_ scrawled within the introduction of a hand-written (and if I wasn't mistaken, that wasn't pen ink) letter. I made sure the owl was still within my sight before I read on.

_Dearest Camryn,_

_First off, that is how you spell your name, isn't it? No matter how many times I've gazed upon it on your name tag, my sight has always been quickly swept away by those bewitching brown eyes! They are brown, aren't they? George says so (well, he says they're sort of greenish-brown), and he also says that's how you spell your name. Bit dodgy how he knows those sorts of things, but maybe he had the time to watch while we were making magic together._

_Anyway, I suppose you're wondering about all this. The owl is Errol. He's ancient, of course, so he's probably about ready to give his last hoot after making it to your place, even if it's only a mile or so away. Mum doesn't want him out at all, given the weather, so you won't mind keeping him there until one of us gets the chance to pick him up, do you? Just throw him on top of a wardrobe or something and feed him some scraps from supper. Doesn't need any exercise, age considered. And don't worry about him getting frisky with yours. We've come to believe his sex drive was taken from him that week Percy locked himself in his room during fourth year and needed something to practice his kissing (as well as other things) with. _

_Be awaiting our visit sometime this week. Couldn't tell you when, really, as we are very busy men. Today was a rare free day for us, so it's just a shame you weren't around to spend it with. The replacement paper girls is...copacetic, shall we say? Nevertheless, I do hope it's you we find at the counter during our next visit. You aren't avoiding us, are you? I'd hate to have to send Pig over with another message. _

_Until then, my love, I'll be dreaming of the next time our paths cross. _

_Eternally yours,_

_Fred Wealsey _

I was stunned, and unable to look away. I read it again, and then once more, trying to make sense of it. It was impossible. The paper crinkled as my fists dug into it.

What was the _point_ of this? He hadn't bothered to say why they come looking for me in the first place, or why he'd go through all the trouble of getting this message to me now; so why had he done it? There was absolutely no reason! None at all. Didn't say a thing that was worthwhile. It drove me mad. Everything he did drew me mad. He was just playing with me. They were both just playing with me, and I was getting sick of it. This wasn't just harmless flirting anymore. It was getting _weird_. The owls, the strange old-fashioned letters, the "wizard" claims - it wasn't so funny anymore. It was a little _scary_.

Frankly, I was glad they didn't have more of my contact information. I'd take the birds with letters over phone calls, at this point. But were the birds wired with something? Were they watching me in my room while I dressed and slept? And how did this owl know how to get here? Fourth year of _what_ - his stay in a mental institution? Who was Percy and Penelope and Pig? Would it be a _hog_ banging on my door next time? I couldn't take care of _one_ owl, let alone two or some carrier pig those two decide to send over! This was like an eighteenth century courting ritual gone wrong. This was 1996, not the Shakespearean age.

No, I refused to humor them. This was going to far. The line had been crossed. Tomorrow, I would look up the telephone number for Wildlife Control and think up some kind of story. If the twins wanted their birds back, they'd better hope they were trained well enough to fly home after being released into the wild by professionals. And the next time I saw them, in person, I would tell them to back off. And if it came to it, I'd get the police involved. These were dangerous times - I couldn't risk getting involved in anything and anyone that I didn't trust completely. And, frankly, the twins were losing my trust with every day that went by.

It became hard to sort through all of the thoughts pounding at my mind. Eventually, I couldn't help but to crumple the note up into a ball, grit my teeth, and throw it across the room with as much strength as I could exhume.

Huffing and puffing, I rounded on the bird next, pressing my lips into a thin line. Its large, topaz eyes drifted from the crumpled package it had carried here to my face, as if to say, '_Was that really necessary?'_

"So, you're Errol, then," I said, suddenly finding the presence of foreign animals in my home less intimidating than ever. It hooted softly, looking apprehensive towards my bizarre reactions. "...Nice to meet you."

* * *

**(A/N) I dislike this chapter, and I REALLY dislike how long it took me to write this chapter that I dislike (althought, it probably took me so long _because_ I disliked it right from the beginning). For a possible silver lining, I'll say that I actually, for the first time, have the next chapter planned out already. And it's mostly dialogue, which I enjoy so much more than this internal monologue/description stuff. I'm hoping to get Part Five out for the one year mark at the end of July. Cross your fingers, ladies and gents!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Queen of Hearts**

Chapter Five

* * *

The telephone was only an arm away, and a copy of the Yellow Pages right in front of me, turned to the section of animal-focused facilities.

I was going to do it. Honestly, I was. There were no customers around, so there was nothing stopping me from making the call. It just wasn't right that there were two owls up in my flat. It wasn't _legal_. I'd probably have to go through an investigation after handing them over, but that was the price I had to pay for following the law. I wouldn't just roll over and let Fred and George's demented sense of humor ruin me; I would stand up for myself and take control of my life. They were _trying_ to cause chaos at my expense, but I couldn't give into it. I couldn't let them win by playing along. I had to end it for myself. Now. Just pick up the phone...

I bit my lip, my hand hovering over the receiver. Was it really worth the trouble, though? I'm sure the police had more than enough work to do nowadays. I didn't want to interrupt them while they were hunting down the criminals that blew up the theatre just because of a few teenage pranks. I could let the birds go myself. Next weekend, when Hazel was there to cover the store, I could take a trip to the woods and let them out.

No. No, that wouldn't work. I couldn't wait that long. This was my home, and I didn't want any birds involved in it. It was a miracle in itself that I was able to coax that Errol into the cage the barn owl had been brought to me in, and it (he?) didn't deserve to be cooped up in there for another week; it wasn't _it's_ fault that its owners were gits.

So that was it, then. Now or never. Don't think about it, just do it.

I had released the tail end of a deep breath and picked up the cordless when the bell above the shop door tolled. The phone fell from my hand and clattered across the counter top, putting me in a frenzy to right it back in its cradle as if I hadn't been touching it at all before popping my head up, plastering a fantastically plastic smile onto my face.

"'Morning," I greeted, trying not to let my brow furrow when the girl nodded back, making a purposeful bee-line towards my register. She couldn't have been much younger than I was, but I could have sworn I had never seen her before. And, as foolish of me as it probably was, I was somewhat petrified of her flaming red hair.

"You're Camryn, I suppose?" she asked, halting on the opposite side of the counter. I barely realized it when I gulped.

"Yeah. Can I help you with something?" My stance was suddenly taller and fuller; more defensive.

The girl took notice of my reaction and withdrew just the slightest, but her brow wrinkled in half-concealed befuddlement. "My brothers, Fred and George, they said they left Errol here with you. Our owl?"

It took me a moment to respond, a moment taken up by weight shifting and throat clearing on my part. "Yeah. Yeah, I've got the bird." I felt a bit stupid then, saying something so absurd while glaring at this girl who really hadn't done a thing to me. "I suppose you'll be wanting him?"

In a way, this had worked out just fine. Maybe it was better to have this girl – their sister – here early in the day so that Fred and George wouldn't have to be later. Or ever. Assuming they were losing interest by sending her, I may never see them again. That was fine, I think. At the very least, a break from them would do me a world of wonders.

The she-Weasley let out a breath of air, raking a hand through her fiery mane. "Yeah, if you can. Those gits should have never sent him to you in the first place. Sorry 'bout them. Fred and George are usually brilliant, mind you, but I'm never surprised with how dim-witted they can be sometimes. Honestly..."

I nodded, a bit lost in the conversation but recognizing that we may have had a common enemy in the situation after all. "Right, so, ah…I'll just…go get him for you, then."

I wasn't so sure of the plan in all actuality. I wasn't supposed to leave the store unattended while on duty, especially when customers were present. And this customer was a Weasley; how did I know that this whole thing now wasn't some elaborate set-up to keep me distracted long enough for Fred and George to stow away in the maintenance closet or something?

But there was no helping it. I abandoned the shop and ran for the hills, trotting up the stairs with what I hoped wasn't too conspicuous of a speed until I came to the door that led to the flat. I made my way across the den, through the doors to the main living space, down the corridor and into my bedroom, where I barely allowed myself to so much as glance askance at the snoozing barn owl atop my mirror while making a bee-line to the caged monstrosity sitting on the dresser. I didn't really care much about jostling the thing as I hoisted it up and waddled my way back down to the store; I just wanted to get him returned as soon as possible.

The girl was still there waiting for me as I clambered down the stairs, twisting her hands and pacing before the register. She looked up when she heard me coming, her cheeks still holding onto some of the pink they'd gained from the cold outside, and then moved forward to meet me at the base of the staircase.

I extended the bird cage to her before she could ask for it, and let it go as soon as she had gotten a ghost of a grip on it. She seemed taken aback by my enthusiasm, nearly dropping the trap herself as it rested on the tips of her gloved fingers.

"Thanks," she said, trying to get a better hold. She looked up at me through a mane of red. "Do you want me to bring the cage back or–"

"No, that's fine, I don't care," I babbled, shaking my head and hurrying back to my post. I'd hoped that she'd take the hint and let me get back to my life, but even once she had gotten a stead grip on the cage she didn't show any signs of leaving. I was tempted to ask her to go, manners be damned.

When she placed the cage down on the carpet before her, I let out an only barely audible cross between a snort and a groan. I didn't particularly care if she thought I was mad anymore. I just wanted her and her bird and her family gone. If acting like a nutter would get them to leave me alone, then maybe my dignity wasn't such an absurd trade-off.

"I know it doesn't mean much," she started, her lips in a sort of stern line but her eyes somehow doing the opposite as they sought out mine, "but I really am sorry for those two, you know. Fred and George, I mean. They're always pulling pranks and causing some kind of stir, but they really don't mean any harm by it. Well, usually. It's all just for a bit of fun."

My brow rose. Fun?

She seemed to realize the misuse of the word and hurried to change the topic. "Uh, would you mind helping me with something?"

As tempted as I was to refuse, I had already given her an unconscious nod, praying that whatever she was about to ask was a simple request that would send her away from the shop in the end.

"I was wondering about plugs," she said. "My dad collects them, so I was thinking about getting him a few for Christmas, you know? Do you know a good place find them?"

I watched her in silence for some time, until I realized that she actually was quite serious and waiting for me to say something. "Plugs?"

"Yeah, that's right," she stated, not seeming so sure of herself anymore. Apparently whatever reaction she was hoping to get out of me wasn't the one that I was showing. "Plugs."

"Plugs." I might have laughed if she hadn't been so sincere in saying it. "Your dad collects plugs, and you want to know where to find some?"

She hesitated for a beat before nodding. I opened my mouth dumbly before letting my thoughts tumble out of it.

"What do you mean by plugs, exactly? A drain plug, or AC power plugs, or DC connector plugs, or…?"

I was trying to make sense of it. I'd heard of some strange collections, but plugs were a new one. And did she really not have the sense to know where to find some, whichever one it was?

The Weasley girl shrugged, looking nearly as lost as I was. "I'm sure any of those would be fine."

She was tactful with avoiding a straight answer, as if she didn't know what any of the things I mentioned were at all. But that in itself, I figured, wasn't all to do with her own queerness. Most people I knew didn't know the difference between them anyway, so this girl was no better or less than my friends in that sense. All at once, that thought calmed my paranoia.

"I suppose you've come to the right place, then," I resigned with a sigh, rolling my eyes halfway. "My dad owns this paper shop, but he's an electrician by profession. I probably know more about electric plugs than any girl ever should, and we have plenty lying around in storage around here."

Sharing such information seemed to warm her up some, so much so that I could practically see the muscles of her slight frame relaxing as she chanced a smile. "Good for me, then. Killing two birds with one stone, I suppose." Her eyes darted down to the actual bird at her feet as an afterthought. "Or on second thought…"

It wasn't the funniest thing I had ever heard, but under the circumstances I let out a slight, breathy laugh. The ginger joined me, and it seemed then that the tenseness around us was as smooth as it was going to get.

"I'm Ginny, by the way," she informed me. I was only dimly aware that she hadn't properly introduced herself until then, and even if she already knew my name I saw it fit to return the gesture.

"Right then," I settled once that was done, taking in a breath and rocking backwards on my heels, "plugs."

For the second time, I blatantly ignored protocol and left the store, wandering into one of the back rooms where my dad kept all of his handy ware. Being an electrician, he had an impressive supply of light bulbs, extension cords, wall outlets, wires, and, of course, plugs. I perused the selection for a minute or two, wondering what exactly would be best suited for a man who collected plugs in the first place, before making my decision.

"Here," I said as I reentered the store, my eyes focused on brushing off some dust on the packaging. "A '5000W 4 Outlets Sockets AC Electric Power Bar Strip Splitter', as it says. Basically, it's just a block of four outlets, though."

I regained my position on the inside side of the counter, holding the outlet on display. It was only then when I looked up to take in Ginny's reaction, which lead me to match her furrowed brow and vacant expression.

"An outlet, you know," I promped, giving the box a little wiggle. Did she really need an explanation for that, even when it was right in front of her? "What you plug the plugs into?"

Ginny nodded, but it seemed to be a move that was more to appease me than of actual understanding. The blank look on her face barely cleared up, and she reached out with a tentative hand to take the outlet from me.

I tapped my fingers against the counter once they were free, feeling awkward and inadequate. "I just reckoned an outlet would be a little more creative than more plugs. We've got plenty of other knick knacks back there, though, if you'd prefer–"

"No," she cut me off rather abruptly, rolling the package around in her gloved hands once in examination before bringing her gaze up to send me a closed-lip, genuine but half smile. "It's brilliant, really. How much do I owe you?"

My lips quirked up in return, but I shook my head. "Don't worry about it. Honestly, we've got a million more back there since my dad gets samples free from work. It's no problem."

Ginny seemed uncomfortable with the offer, and her smile fell some. "I can pay for it."

"But you don't have to," I countered. "It's like I said: it was a free sample, so no one's losing money on it in the end. Just take it."

While my assurances didn't do much on the surface to convince her, she bobbed her chin once after a short pause and gripped the package tighter in her hands.

"Thanks," she muttered. She examined the outlet for another few turns before taking in a finalizing breath and catching my eye.

"I'll let you get back to work," she said. "Sorry I barged in like that in the first place, but I really needed Errol to write my boyfriend."

"No problem."

She needed the bird to write her boyfriend? Her face was as straight as anything when she said it; it wasn't even a joke. Was it?

Ginny made a peculiar expression in the family of a wince, but made a valiant effort to recover from it.

"Well, see you," she breathed with a nod, keeping her head down as she retrieved Errol's cage. I watched her go, one last thought biting at the tip of my tongue. She was reaching out to pull on the door when I couldn't hold it back any longer.

"Do you want the other one?"

Ginny paused for my voice, and her brow was wrinkled when she shot me a look over her shoulder. "Other one?"

"The other owl," I affirmed, biting my lip. "You brothers brought another owl here a few days ago, before they sent that one you've got there. They said it was a present or something, but to tell you the truth I've been trying to get rid of it since the moment I saw it. Your family must own a sanctuary or something, right, to have them all in the first place? I'm sure it'd be much better off with you."

Ginny's lips parted in a mute gasp, her eyes the smallest bit narrowed. "They gave you another one?"

"Yeah. A barn owl, apparently."

Ginny turned her face away for a heartbeat, as if to hide some flash of emotion, before returning her attention to me and sending a convincing grin my way.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of it," was what she said, although she once again made for the door. "I can't take care of it at the moment, but I promise you I will take care of it."

She was gone before I could get another word in, stomping through the snow powdered streets. I could only gape after her until she was out of sight, wondering what exactly was on her mind with that sort of ominous plight.

I shook my head once she was long gone, forcing myself to settled down behind the register and regain my bearings.

"The whole family must be bonkers," I decided, switching on the radio and hoping to get swept up in Burl Ives' "A Holly Jolly Christmas".

* * *

Christmas loomed over the week ahead, and my days in the shop were defined by re-stocking the collection of wrapping papers, which had been strategically arranged along the wall leading from the door to the register. I found some entertainment in watching how some people put just as much effort in picking out the particular design they wanted to wrap the gifts in as they had in selecting the gifts themselves.

In my personal life, things had remained much the same, which was an unfortunate thing. I didn't bother to set my alarm any more, since the owl was always there thumping at my window around the same time I was supposed to wake up anyway. I'd gotten somewhat braver when dealing with it, though; I no longer retreated from the room as soon as it entered, but had worked myself up to tip-toeing in and out freely. Sometimes during my shifts in the shop I would consider what sort of name to call it, but I forced myself away from the idea before I could become too enthusiastic about it. Naming it would only bring me closer to it, and I was still keen on getting rid of it before the holidays (when family would come to visit and, inevitably, find out that it was living in my bedroom). When exactly did that Ginny Weasley plan on taking care of it? Did she still intend to take care of it?

Her visit had happened on Tuesday, the fifteenth of December. By that same Friday, I had decided that I wouldn't wait for her help after all and would need to return the matter to my own hands. On Saturday morning, I would smuggle the bird out and drive it up to a vacant plot of land.

In my mind's eye, the plan was perfect. The details were being sorted out at the tail end of my shift Friday evening, and I was so absorbed in them that the idea of observing another customer pace in front of the papers didn't even cross my mind when the bell chimed and one walked in. Instead, I held myself up on the counter by my elbows, my chin resting in my palms and my gaze transfixed on a large cluster of holly hanging from the ceiling.

"Ah, is that what I think it is?''

I brought my eyes downwards, not altering my relaxed position at all. As horrified as I should have been, I somehow couldn't find it in me to be too frightened by the twin standing before me. Maybe it was just that a part of me thought he might have been a hallucination, or maybe I was empowered by steps I was taking to reverse any damage that he had already done.

I raised a brow, not making any attempt to hide my less-than-impressed attitude. "It's not mistletoe, if that's what you're thinking."

"Shame," he said, not sounding all too disappointed in actuality. "I was already getting that tingling feeling behind my naval. It would be an interesting take on customer service if it were, though, to hang it up right above the register."

My lips pressed together as I regarded him only briefly before asking a blunt, "Which one are you?" I just wanted to get it out of the way, really, and avoid the stress it would cause me to wonder all the while we we speaking.

"George," said George, giving a light smile and nod, as if he understood my reasoning completely. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his wool coat, hovering where he stood and examining the store he'd already seen loads of times before. "Ginny gave Fred and me an earful, I'll have you know. It was a bit terrifying. Mum in the making, that one."

The mention of Ginny perked my interest and I sat up straighter. "Are you here to take the bird, then?"

"No."

My expression fell, and my eyes narrowed. "Then why are you here?"

As if there should be any other possible reason for him to show his face, as far as I was concerned.

A teasing smile came onto George's lips, but he seemed the think better than to voice whatever joke had popped into his head, instead going with, "To make arrangements."

I was very close to throwing something (at him, if my aim would permit it), but I channeled the urge into clenched fists. "What _sort_ of arrangements? Arrangements to get that bird out of my bedroom, I hope?"

Both of George's eyebrows shot up into his hairline, I suppose at my shameless show of backbone. "Yes, actually. I guess Gin was right in saying you were going a bit bonkers over this whole thing..."

"Yes I'm 'going a bit bonkers over this whole thing'," I said, my voice raising a few pitches in indignation. "There's a wild owl living in my bedroom! Am I supposed to be thrilled about that?"

"Most people would be, I'd expect," George said with a shrug. He recovered from his nonchalance quickly, though, to spare himself from my wrath. "But no matter, I'm just here to tell you that I'll come by tomorrow morning, if that's alright with you, and take the bird off your hands."

My lips flapped a few times, but I didn't manage to get any words out until they were a resigned sort of grumble of, "I was planning on doing that myself tomorrow morning, actually."

"Oh?" George looked surprised, for whatever reason. "With what?"

"What do you mean by that?" I was aware of how much of a sulking child I sounded, but there wasn't much help for it. "I asked my dad to borrow the car and I was going to drive it up-"

"No, not that," George cut in. "It's just that you let Ginny take the cage we gave you, didn't you? What were you going to put the owl in to bring it from the car and back? I somehow don't see you holding it on your arm, or having it stay on your arm. No offense, of course."

Again, my mouth was left to catch flies as its only function. How could I have missed that detail? It was major! How did I always seem to make myself look like a complete idiot in front of these people?

"U-uh, well..."

"No matter," George interrupted, saving me from the trouble of defending myself and looking quite pleased with himself for that fact. "I'll be by 'round ten, if you're alright with that. With the cage."

I simply nodded, chewing on my tongue and feigning an unparallelled interest in the counter top. Did I have a choice? I wasn't in the position to say no and handle it solo anymore. At that point, I honestly wanted George to leave so that I could close up the shop, go up to the flat, and forget that the world existed outside of those four walls. The Weasley Effect, I think I'd call it.

"Well, see you then," George said. I heard him shift his weight once before his footsteps sounded, heading for the door. Hope welled in my stomach, only to freeze as he paused just before stepping out. "You said the birds in you're bedroom, did you?"

Caught between confusion and horror, I made sure to look up and catch his eye when I nodded yet again.

A grin bit at the corners of his lips. "Clean up for me then, would you?"

I didn't understand what he meant until he sent me a rakish wink.

* * *

**(A/N) This is the shortest chapter I've posted in a while for any of my stories, but I just felt that it was in the right place to end (since I'm pretty much just bored with looking at it, lol). I'm sorry it took so long to get out; I'm not going to promise the next will be done in a blink, but I'll definitely try to work faster! Considering the events to come, I expect it will either write itself or be really troublesome for me. At least there'll actually be some developement starting up, eh?**

**Fun Fact: It's been Chritsmas season in this story since it started nearly eighteen months ago. **_**Pathetic**_**.**

**At any rate, who's seen HP7 Part 1? I want an honest review of it, please! After all the raving for HP6 last year, I almost left the theater in disgust when I finally made my move to see it. Should I waste my money this time or wait to Red Box the DVD?**


	6. Chapter 6

**Queen of Hearts**

Chapter Six

* * *

I spent all of Friday night cleaning the flat. Not only my bedroom, but the entire apartment itself, from the cracks between tiles in the kitchen to the bits of rust around the faucets in the restroom. George wouldn't, of course, have any reason to enter either room (or notice such minute details while in them) but the possibility remained, and I preferred to be prepared for it.

It didn't take quite as long as I would have expected, and there were still a few hours left in the day when I collapsed onto the sofa, coated in a thin layer of sweat and wondering if all of that work was really worth it. Why should I be trying to impress someone I wanted nothing to do with?

I let out a huff, letting myself fall over onto my side. From there, I could see the answering machine blinking on the end table. My father, probably, checking in and calling to say he'd be late for some reason or another, or maybe Emily inviting me to a night out. Was it a crime against humanity that I, an eighteen-year-old girl, had stayed home on a Friday night to clean rather than go out with her friends?

A month or so ago, I would have said so. But the truth was I probably would have declined any offer Emily might have made anyway. Daytime travel was one thing, but even if it'd been a few weeks since the theatre bombing the aftershock still rattled me some. I didn't know if I would be able to go out and enjoy the night life for a while; not until some of the activity died down, anyway, or some of the criminals were caught. My life had become miserable all around lately.

When it occurred to me what a horrible train of thought I was following, all things considered, I pulled myself back up into a seated position. I needed something to keep my mind distracted; both from driving myself mad looking ahead at all of the ways the next day could go wrong and my own selfish immaturity in the midst of a public emergency. As cliché as it probably was, my thoughts darted almost immediately to the box of brownie mix in the cupboard.

On cue, the door opened and my father strolled in, tapping his boots on the floor mat to rid them of the snow that had already half-melted on the way up. I wasn't sure that it had much of an effect, something that he seemed to realize as well. So he dropped the attempt, looking up at me with a perfunctory greeting before double taking at the scenery.

"Cam," he started, trailing his eyes along what he could see of the sitting room, "you cleaned, eh?"

I followed the path made by his eyes, nodding all the way. "Yeah. Looks like it."

Dad scrunched up his face in overdramatized confusion, sniffing up a running nose as he did. "Why's that?"

"Dunno," I said with a shrug, keeping my expression neutral. "Just felt like it, I guess. Head start for the holidays."

My father watched me for some time from the foyer, scrutinizing me as if he thought I was up to something devious. I raised a brow in challenge, and he backed down without a fight.

"'M too tired for this," he grumbled, moving on into the main room with me and pulling off his heavy (and dripping wet) coat as he went. "Don't stay up too late sniffing the bleach."

I shot him a sour glare despite the fact that he was already halfway down the hall, heading towards his bedroom. My eyes were then drawn to the puddles of footprints that he'd left in his wake.

"I'll just be out here cleaning," I called in the sort of voice that wasn't sure if it wanted to carry to his ear or not. "... Again."

* * *

I wasn't able to sleep very well that night, as the advent of George's arrival was still weighing on my mind more than I should have let it. I was awake before my bird even showed up outside the window, and I used that extra time to conceal the lack of sleep showing on my face with some meticulously applied make-up. Before it was even time to meet Hazel downstairs and open shop I'd made breakfast (pancakes), washed my dishes and the counter, gotten myself fully dressed, and also managed to wrap a few gifts. I tidied up my mess in the family room after that and headed down to the shop to set things up for Hazel's arrival. There really wasn't much to do, but I'd exhausted all of my options upstairs.

I tried to make myself look busy rearranging items on shelves as the clock rounded half-past eight, knowing that Hazel would be arriving any minute to set up for her shift. As antsy as I was, I didn't want to _seem_ it. Hazel would get curious and, inevitably, ask what was wrong with me. What was I supposed to tell her then?

My hands froze halfway between the greeting cards and congratulation cards. Hazel. I hadn't thought about that. Hazel would be working. Hazel would see me bringing George up to the vacant flat. What would that look like to her?

No, I _had_ thought about that. She'd been there when the twins brought me the bird the week before, so all I had to tell her was that one of them was coming to bring it back. Honesty would work just fine. As long as she didn't ask why he had the cage and I didn't, I was safe.

I let out a deep breath, hoping my logic would prove right. But still, what if she did ask about the cage? Was I supposed to tell her that they'd sent me _another_ bird, this one delivering a letter like some sort of carrier pigeon, that I had then passed on to their younger sister? It was the truth, but I'm not sure if it was believable.

A gust of frigid wind blew in as the door opened. The only thing I could do was rush a prayer before turning to greet Hazel.

At my call of good morning Hazel only let out a grunt that was muffled by the bulk of her scarf. Even once she had hauled herself into the store and trotted further into the interior she didn't remove any of her clothing, something I really didn't hold against her; winter wasn't my favorite season either.

I went back to my busy work while Hazel warmed up, letting the silence pass without any hard feelings. Having her there was sort of a good distraction for me, since her presence somehow kept me from thinking too hard about the upcoming events. My daydreams instead turned to plans for the holidays, and I was running though a mental checklist of the groceries I'd need for Christmas dinner when Hazel joined me in the moment.

"I don't care," she ground out, unwinding the wool from her jaw and neck, "about any loony's scientific porkies. I _welcome_ global warming."

A perfunctory smile popped up on my lips, and I finished straightening out a row of envelopes before facing her again.

"I'm sure you won't be saying the same once summer comes along," I said, placing my hands on my hips and looking her up and down. A frown formed on my brow as my eyes settled on her enflamed cheeks. "You want some hot chocolate?"

Hazel gave me a dull stare. "That sounds natty."

I nodded, sending her another smile before bounding towards and up the staircase. My nerves, it seemed, had transformed themselves into a jittery energy within the span of three minutes Hazel and I had been in the same room together. I wasn't sure what exactly it was that brought it on, but I also wasn't about to complain about it.

I hummed a fast-paced tune to myself as I stirred two mugs of cocoa in the kitchen, making a pit stop at one of the cabinets to pluck up two peppermint sticks to plop into the drinks before making my way back down to the store. Hazel had unwound herself from her winter wear by the time I rounded off the blast few steps and had taken her post behind the counter. Her chin perked when she caught sight of my approach, her eyes bewitched by the steam rising from the glasses.

"Bless you, you Christmas saint," she said, accepting one of the mugs with a head bob of thanks. She used it as a hand warmer, not making any move to take a sip just yet. I followed her lead, leaning up against the counter as I fiddled with my peppermint stick. It wasn't long, though, until the feeling of Hazel's scrutiny caught my attention.

"You're not trying to butter me up for somethin', are ya?" she questioned, cocking a suspicious brow. I opened my mouth, ready to refuse her in good humor, but a thought struck me before I was able to get the words out.

_Was_ I trying to bribe her? To get on her good side so she wouldn't make such a fuss about George coming over?

"No," I uttered, giving a small shrug while staring into the depths of the murky milk. "I mean, not really. It's just…" I chanced a glance at Hazel, but the intensity of her observation was too much for me. "…one of the twins is stopping by for a bit. Just to pick something up."

Hazel was quiet for an elongated moment, but her lips parted to ask, "You mean one of them nancy-boys from last week?"

"Yes," I mumbled, fully focused on the swirling mocha beneath my nose.

"They're coming back?"

"One of them."

"I thought you weren't friends."

"We're not."

"But you still arranged this little do?"

"He's just picking something up."

I felt like I was getting interrogated by a parent. In an attempt to regain my dignity I looked back up, into Hazel's hazel-as-her-name eyes. There was really no reason for me to avoid eye contact in the first place; I had nothing to be ashamed of. And, more importantly, I didn't have Hazel to answer to. I was _her_ boss, in all essence. I shouldn't be bringing the issue up like I was asking for permission.

Hazel seemed to pick up on the point I was trying to make and complied on her own, bringing the mug up to her lips and throwing her head back as she chugged. In five gulps she seemed to have drained it down to the dregs. Her face took on a pleasant looseness as she lowered the mug and let its full weight collide with the counter top.

"Alright," she said after letting out a contented sigh. "I won't niggle. It's none of my business."

I dipped my chin in agreement, but in another dimension my mouth was gaping. Hazel wasn't the type to let things go; maybe getting her so early in the day was the key? Or did my hot chocolate actually achieve some unconscious ploy to warm both her body and heart?

Whatever it was I let it drop, deciding once again not to questions the fact that things were working in my favor for the day.

Hazel nudged her empty mug towards me.

"What time should I expect 'im, then?" she inquired, watching while I gathered her dishes in my free hand. My movements froze for a fraction of a second.

"I dunno," I answered after a small pause before going on as if nothing had happened at all. I could feel Hazel's aura revert to cynicism.

"You dunno," she repeated dubiously. I made no notion that I had heard her at all, to which she responded with a click of her tongue. "Well then, what am I to do whenever the bloke does show up? Shout tea leaves?"

"No," I refused, racking my brain for an alternate arrangement. "Just…" I stalled, moving along to hover near the base of the staircase, "…shout up the stairs, I suppose. But don't say anything about a thief. It's not to the best thing for business."

Like a coward, I bolted up the steps before Hazel could get another word in. I shut myself up behind closed doors, deposited Hazel's empty glass in the sink, and clung onto my untouched cocoa like it was a lifeline as I made my way into the sitting room and sunk down into the couch cushions. My mood, once again, had taken on a one-eighty. George _had_ said what time to expect him. Around ten, he'd said. But why did I blank that out and panic in front of Hazel? And why hadn't I just told her the truth like I had planned? Should I go back down and fill her in?

My legs made no hint that they were willing to bear me weight. No, it wasn't that important. I would just sit here, and sip on my hot chocolate, and watch television, praying that my pride hadn't run completely dry on me and that I'd be able to hold it together long enough to get George and the bird in and out as quickly as possible. Then they would all be gone and I could go back to living the care-free, teenage life I was supposed to be living. George would walk out that door with a barn owl and take all of the necessary stress in my life with it, never to be seen again. It'd all started with the bird, and it would all end with the bird.

It would all end with the bird.

* * *

An hour had passed, but somehow that sixty minutes felt like they had aged me by sixty years. Each second seemed to be a day of its own, but I did eventually find that the clock had changed its appearance and presented me with a time only ten minutes away from ten. Those ten minutes, I knew, would be the longest of my life thus far.

With that prediction in mind, I didn't know whether to be annoyed or grateful that a knock came to the door at five of. Whatever it should have been was overshadowed by confusion, as I hadn't been expecting a knock at all. No one knocked at the door (the only way to get _to_ the door was to go through the store, after all). Why was Hazel knocking at the door?

I marched my way into the foyer, so fueled by the desire to know what was going on that I didn't stop to consider caution. I was certainly struck by caution when I opened the door and saw a pink-nosed George himself on the other side, however.

He smiled when he saw me, a closed-lipped, tight sort of smile that looked like it was being held back from exploding into an uncontrollable grin. It was probably because of my expression, which most likely looked like the door had swung around and hit me square in the face.

"'Lo," George greeted mildly, raising up a mitten-clad hand. Despite his quirked lips, he managed to tilt his head and bring his brow together. "You don't seem like you were expecting me."

My lips parted on impulse, but a few combinations of sounds scampered across my tongue before I was able to wrangle one that was actually coherent. "I...I didn't expect you_ here_. At my door." I leaned my torso to the side a bit, trying to peer behind him. It was pointless, so I found George's face again. "Why are you at my door? Where's Hazel?"

"Hazel?" George hummed, rocking back on his heel. I only noticed the bird cage in his other hand then, when it swung with the action. "You mean that lovely dove of sunshine and cheer that's handling the store downstairs? She sent me up. Said to follow the stairs and keep my fingers to myself, whatever that's meant to mean."

I felt my features morph in horror, something that George seemed immensely amused by.

"I'm guessing that you know what it's meant to mean," he observed, smirking a bit and shaking his head slowly. "It's so hard to find good help these days."

I was fairly certain that _he_ knew what it was meant to mean as well, and his faking of ignorance wasn't supposed to translate as genuine in the first place. With a slight pout to my lips I let it slide, stepping out of the way and seeing no other choice but to invite him in. He crossed over the threshold in a single long step, pausing there and using the time it took me to close the door to take in his surroundings. I tried not to think much of it; it was a natural instinct. Everyone did it. It wasn't as if he would judge me by what my home looked like. I wasn't as if I _cared_ if he judged me by what my home looked like.

"Nice place you've got here, Camryn," George said, his eyes still making their rounds. "Very...clean."

I knew what that meant. That nonchalant voice, that slight hesitation before the word 'clean'; it was too clean. It was too obvious that I'd spent more time than I needed to cleaning. He thought I was trying to impress him by making the house so clean.

"Well, Christmas is just around the corner, you know," I began to babble, crossing my arms and clinging to my few remaining shreds of dignity. "The family will all be popping in then, and I have loads to do before they come. I just figured I'd get most of the cleaning out of the way while I had the time so that I could shop and prepare meals and get everything—"

"Whoa there, girl," George interrupted, letting his teeth slip out with his smile this time. "I don't need any justification. I wasn't teasing. It's _nice_."

A bubble of air lodged itself in my throat. I tried to take in a deep breath to pop it, but something in the way George was looking at me from the corner of his eye made even the simplest motions impossible. He seemed to realize this and looked away, continuing with his observation of the room.

"There's no tree, though," he pointed out a moment later, frowning towards the corner of the room where I'd piled presents up beneath a bare span of wall.

"Yeah," I said, letting out a small cough to make sure my air passage was clear. "Dad's just been too busy to get one. With what happened to the theatre, you know? Work rules him right now, so I guess that's something else I'll need to do next week."

George nodded along to my words, but the light-hearted twinkle had left his eye by the end. I shifted, crossing my arms beneath my chest. There was nothing left for me to say, and yet it felt like I had left the conversation hanging.

"So," George said, seemingly picking up on the awkward lull, "it's just the two of you then? You and your dad?"

"Yeah," I breathed, ignoring George's low whistle and jumping at the opportunity to keep the talk flowing. "And you? Do you have any other siblings besides Fred and Ginny?"

"Seven."

My attention zoned in on him sharply. "Seven?"

"Seven," George restated, as if it were nothing. The spark had returned to his eye. "Plus Mum and Dad."

"Nine people," I pondered aloud, not sure if I was able to grasp the concept for what it was worth. "All in the same house?"

"Not anymore," George said, bouncing a bit on his feet again. I was made re-aware that we were standing in the middle of my flat, and it was the first time I'd ever had a boy there. "I reckon Fred and I've mentioned that we live above _our_ shop, and our two oldest brothers, Bill and Charlie, have been off for a few years now. Bill's the one getting married, you know. Anyway, Percy's not at home anymore either, but he's not so much considered a part of the family to anyone but Mum these days. An estranged Weasley, more like, but it's not as if he ever really fit in the first place."

The first thing that came to my mind was how horrible that was, both the situation with Percy and George's lack of sympathy towards it, but I thought better than to voice my opinion; it wasn't any of my business and could lead to unnecessary and unwelcomed debate. This was supposed to be an in-and-out, minimum contact visit, after all.

"Well," I spoke up, raising my voice a notch, "my bedroom's this way." And then, when I caught onto the double entendre as soon as it left my mouth, I blurted out an exceedingly less put-together: "The bird's there. In my bedroom. That's where it always is and I didn't want to move it, so..."

I avoided George's gaze as I skittered forward down the hall, but I was almost sure he was smirking at my back.

My steps were twice as wide as they were under normal circumstances, but it still seemed to take the same amount of time to reach my room. The door was closed, as it always was when the owl was inside, so I pulled it open, hurried inside, and shimmied off to the side to make room for George. I made a motion towards the far wall as he came in, commenting a needless and probably unintelligible word of indication. George seemed to understand it, though, and made for the mirror that was now turned into a personal perch.

There was nothing else for me to do at that point, so I resigned myself to being thankful that George only had eyes for the task at hand; if he was sneaking a peek at my possessions, at least he didn't make it obvious.

George paused at the base of the newspaper ring (I had set it up along the floor as a home-made dropping catcher), taking a moment to assess his plan of attack before moving in. I didn't make a sound all the while, only letting out a near silent gasp when he reached up without a hint of hesitation and gave the owl's wing a jab.

"Oi, rise and shine," he cooed mockingly, reaching out again to ruffle the feathers at the base of the owl's neck. "C'mon, you loaf. I know you aren't being put to work around here, so don't try to act so exhausted."

As if responding directly to George's words the owl gave a brief shudder before pulling its head out from beneath its wing. Even from where I stood a distance away, I could see the animal's disturbingly humanistic glare.

"Blimey," George said in a hush, darting one quick look over his shoulder towards me. "She's a moody one, isn't she? What's her name?"

I swallowed before answering. "Doesn't have one."

George let out some kind of huff, but dropped the matter as he brought his arms up again. This time he was more gentle with the bird, his movements slow and deliberate as he coaxed it with his right hand into stepping onto his left forearm. I marveled at the sight. It was like watching a man rolling around on friendly terms with a lion.

My wonder got the best of me, and I gradually found myself wandering closer to the scene while George transported the owl into its original cage. It didn't seem to mind the imprisonment at all, only curling its head right back beneath its wing once it was settled in.

"How do you know," I asked in whisper, leaning in around George as he locked the cage door in place, "that it's a girl?"

George just shrugged, securing the miniature lock and standing to his full height (which was more daunting when we were so close side-by-side). "Dunno, just do. A skill that comes with experience, I guess."

I bobbled my chin up and down, bringing my gaze to the floor. His family really must own some kind of wildlife sanctuary, then. Where else did someone get experience with owls?

Still, I was aware of every second that ticked by without any interaction, so, just to fill space, I piped the question: "Your family really does manage a reservation for exotic beasts or something, don't they?"

The corners of George's lips curled upwards. "You could call it that."

As odd as his answer was, I accepted it. I wasn't willing to argue at that point. I wasn't sure if I could handle it.

Again, it was as if George was perceptive to my every thought. He knelt down again, took hold of the bird cage, and looked to me for a lead.

"Well, I think I've done all I can do here," he said, egging me on. I gave him an only slightly forced smile in turn.

"Yeah, thanks."

Although I knew he could find his own way back to the door and off of my property, it was only polite to bring him there myself. So I did, propelling my weight quickly and carefully back into the hallway and through to the sitting room.

We reached the door, and I pulled it open for him, feeling a bit like a man opening the door for his date. I bit my lip, stepping to the side again and leaving enough room for an elephant to pass between myself and the doorway.

"See you," I muttered, holding one of my elbows in a stance of ultimate timidity. While I would have liked to have him walk out and put me out of my misery, George stood stalk still, placing me in a sandwhich between him and the threshold. When I realized his delay was deliberate, I didn't have any other choice but to look up and cock a brow in question. George was sporting a teasing smirk, but I somehow found it far less malicious than any of the other times I had seen the twins smile.

"What if I were to tell you," he started off, the tips of his lips pulling further up with every word, "that I was actually Fred?"

I was stumped for a moment, only managing a blink, but I let myself answer with the first and honest response that came to mind.

"Not to be rude," I told him, "but it wouldn't really matter. Just as long as one of you were here to take the bird." His question did get me thinking, though. And with the idea planted in my head, I couldn't help but to tilt my head to the side and follow up with, "but are you? Fred, I mean?"

George (or Fred?) was quiet, keeping me pinned under a playful stare that I'm sure he enjoyed immensely.

"No," he stated finally, the single word holding an upward inflexion that made him seem all the more child-like. "I was only asking. I am George."

"Uh-huh," I said, rolling my eyes before I could thing better of it. George's face broke out into a bona fide smile. I retaliated by moving closer to the door and holding it open a bit wider, but there was little doubt in my mind that I didn't look half as hostile as the action would suggest. "Weren't you about to leave, George?"

Again, he ignored the fact that I had said something that hinted towards a response on his part, only continuing to stand there, stare, and now smile. It made me forget the moment of ease that had passed over us for that short time, and my eyes alternated from watching him to glancing around the room.

"George?" I spoke up, trying to decide whether the twins were better or worse when teasing me as compared to this extended period of silent observation. "What're you—"

"Do you want to go out right now?" he said, cutting me off (both in speech and thought). "If you don't have other plans, I could take you to get that tree. It's a shame not to have a tree on Christmas, after all, and you'll need the help bringing it in, right?"

He was right, but I wasn't about to admit it. And I didn't have any other plans for the day (I'd exhausted myself just planning those past ten minutes) but I still wasn't about to admit that, either. For a single, horrifying moment, I almost let myself think that I might say yes. George hadn't been especially knavish, and if this entire bird fiasco hadn't happened at all I would have jumped at the chance for a day-time date with one of the twins (or anyone half-way decent, really).

Things had changed since then. The entire bird fiasco had happened _to_ change everything. But it could also save me from the spot where it had landed me.

"You've got the bird," I said, my voice tight as I nodded to the cage. "You can't carry that around all day, especially when you'd be lugging my tree with it."

"Ah," George said, lifting his chin in recognition and eying the wire enclosure. "That is a fair point."

I was tempted to grin at my spark of brilliance, but it was a little easier than expected to hold the joy back.

George, seeing that he was out of luck and out of welcome, finally proceeded to step out onto the stair-top landing. "Well then, I'll be taking my leave. It's been a delectation as always, Camryn. I'll just have to test my luck some other time, when I'm not weighed down by any fowls."

I pushed myself up against the door frame, not having to work too hard on giving him a parting smile. Just as he was about to start down the stairs and descend into the store, however, he dug his heels into carpet, dropped the cage to the floor, and marched back towards me as a man on a mission. I pulled myself up and at the ready.

"I almost forgot," he murmured along the way, digging into his pants pocket. The gloves seemed to be giving him some trouble. "I brought you something."

He found what he was looking for just as he reached me. I couldn't keep track of each individual maneuver as it happened, but I caught up with all of it when George's fingers retreated from his pocket and his arm rose up above both of our heads. My eyes were drawn to his fists, where he was holding a cluster of curled, somewhat sickly looking leaves.

"Mistletoe. The real stuff," George confirmed just before swooping in.

Unlike the way time seemed to freeze on me earlier that morning, George's movements took place in the blink of an eye. I couldn't do much but part my lips and pull in my chin in expectation, only able to focus on the task and not whether or not I wanted it to happen. My eyes were only half-way closed when George's face neared mine, and my brain had officially stopped all function.

It was there where he stopped his advance, our noses just barely brushing. I managed to catch the very brief grin that flittered across his features, but then he promptly changed direction, planting a large kiss on the apple of my cheek rather than my ready lips.

George pulled away, gazing down at me with glittering eyes. For the first time, I really registered how full of life they were. I'd never noticed that they weren't actually brown, like mine, but tinged with a sort of olive green. It wasn't the most alluring color I'd ever seen, but something about it succeeded in drawing me in. Maybe it was just the proximity? Or the instinct a girl got by being in such proximity with a boy?

The smile slipped off of George's expression, and the light that was attracting me in his look dimmed down into something equally intriguing, but much more serious.

"Camryn?"

George's eyes left mine and settled over my shoulder instead, but I was a bit slower to react.

"Camryn, who's your friends there, eh?"

I gulped as I turned around, hardly daring to believe that my life could be so cliché in such a humiliating way.

"Dad! What're you...doing home?"

* * *

**(A/N) I'd like to thank **quidditchandsonicscrewdrivers** for informing me that a paper shop in England is actually somewhat like an American drugstore. But we'll all just ignore that fact; it's one of the great, powerful things about fiction.**

**Happy generic winter holiday, everyone! This quick-update (by my standards, lol) is a special gift to you all for being so wonderful with the feedback from the last chapter :]**


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